Dead To Me
by persephonella
Summary: Complete. DH AU. Percy doesn't reconcile with his family. After Fred's death, agoraphobic, hoarder Percy refuses to leave his house. Years later, George buys the house. It was discounted! Well, it's a mess and but George can always clean up. Everything is great... up until Percy's ghost haunts him and George is the only one that could see him! How did Percy die anyway?
1. You Told Me to Buy A House!

_welcome to a new story that will probably take a year to complete just like the other three that are complete / almost complete (being 'muggle me' at the very least). i just couldn't resist. i have a few ideas for a ghost!Percy but this is my first one. of course, it's like i opened the DSM and am looking at another mental disorder that i didn't give Percy, i.e. agoraphobia / hoarding. but i had been dreaming about writing this for a while now and i really couldn't resist. __i hadn't 100% decided how he'd died yet but it's going to be something dark. that's nothing new. this story is **probably** going to be dark... i hadn't 100% decided on that either, but even if it is a little lighter in the beginning, it will get darker as time goes on, like everything else i've ever written to be fair. _

_i haven't decided on the** trigger warnings** yet, but um be weary of anything. at chapter ten, i'd probably have a whole list of them but... just remember this story is probably going to be pretty dark. i don't want to give too much away but be cautious. __i really hope that you enjoy this story._

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**Dead to Me**

Chapter One: You Told Me to Buy A House!

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When you owned a joke shop, there were certain things that your shop assistant should not do. Firstly, your shop assistant should _not_ be taking notes about products called Bum-Busting Bludgers and Sensual Strawberry Surprise. Secondly, they shouldn't be waiting for you at six am with cups of coffee (and good ones to boot! _Everyone_ know joke shop coffee was even worse than St Mungo's coffee! George was appalled the first time he took a sip and didn't immediately feel like vomiting.) Thirdly, they should not have a near-aneurysm and shout _'Mr Weasley, that's—err… illegal… I think!' _every time George decided to sell a Skiving Snackbox to a second year who didn't want to sit exams.

Worse than that, did he really look like a _Mr Weasley _to her? He still needed his mum to Floo call him every morning just to wake up for his bloody job! Oh, and why didn't his shop assistant remind him just how fantastically clever he was every four hours like he'd asked? Some people!

And there Dorothy was again, with her…her ethics and her insistence on making sure that he didn't end up in Azkaban by the end of the night. Every time he saw her, George felt like taking a few months off and going off to a holiday in Croatia.

He might as well be working with a… _Ravenclaw_; George shuddered. Even Ron was complaining about her!

After all, what was the point of Ron coming into work if he was just going to be dealing with Dorothy arguing about how sexist the 'female love potions' products were? And if Ron wanted to discuss the _true_ origins of Puffskeins, then he should've stayed at home with his wife. But George supposed that it was really his fault. When Dorothy bought in her CV, he should've known not to hire her when he didn't understand half the things she'd done. And he really, really should've known that anyone that attended a 'Potion Extraction' workshop probably shouldn't be working in a _joke shop_.

What was Potion Extraction anyway? As far as George knew, you whacked it in a phial and then you chugged it down. What would you need to extract it for? Were you going to inject fatal sleeping potions in your mum's cherry trifle?

"Sir, are you sure that this is… um… wise?" Dorothy asked him. Her thick-framed glasses were thicker than her arse, which was… um, 'particularly bodacious' as Lee would say. "I mean this has consistently been the biggest book event of the year for the past seven years, Mr Weasley! I-I even read the book myself dozens of times. I've gotten Mr Davies autograph more than one. _Even More Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them_ has been more massive than the Daily Prophet issue after the second wizarding war ended! Even Scamander's son endorsed it and suggested the blatant rip-off title when he'd read a chapter of the manuscript. He thought it would honour his father! Are you sure you want to—"

"Are you sure I want a laugh?" George cut her off, making her realise how dumb she sounded.

Dorothy shuffled in her shoes. Why did she wear six-inch heels to a joke shop? "At the expensive of Mr Davies?"

George was livid about the whole thing. Harry Potter saved the wizarding world from a perilous fate for his Order of Merlin, but the Ministry gave Roger Davies one for writing a _book._ Harry didn't do annual autograph sessions seven years after the war, boasting about how he saved everyone from death! But the great ole Roger Davies was still smirking with satisfaction about being the first person to discover if hibbering humdingers really did laugh at your choice of jewellery.

"What's so great about a book that proves that _The Quibbler_ isn't complete rubbish?" George was sick of _Even More Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them_. How could the same book still be popular _seven_ years after it was published? But at least Luna Lovegood was over the moon now that they'd managed to find documented evidence of all the creatures she'd been yapping on about for years! Wow! The world changed now that you have documented proof of a nargle have a row with a niffler about shiny engagement rings. George didn't see what the big deal was, especially when it was interfering with his paycheck. "What was Davies doing in the war besides finding out if crumple-horned snorkacks really lived in Sweden! And don't you find it suspicious that he somehow knew—um… how to find them?" he huffed because…well, it wasn't a good argument.

"Mr Weasley…sir, um…" Dorothy fumbled with her skirt. "He's a Magizoologist. It's…his _job_."

"I run a joke shop! That's my job! But did you see me running around with joke products during the war? Well—yes, I did but…well, I was still actively involved in the war! Fred didn't just die so that people like him could walk around after, taking Harry's fame and glory… _AND_ he's taking away all my business by flashing the same book he's written seven years back!" he grumbled in irritation, wishing he could just wipe that smug look off Roger's face. He walked with an air of arrogance that made you think he was the new bloody Dumbledore. He now proclaimed himself as the most Magicy-est (not a word, according to Dorothy) Magizoologist in all the wizarding world. Every time he took a piss, he saved another flock of endangered Fwoopers from doom. "I have a house to pay for! I don't have time to have a bloody _pay cut_… but I'm getting it ninety percent off because the bloke that used to live there died in it and is haunting the kitchen. Oh, and because it's a little messy..."

It was not a little messy. The house was scarier than the Forbidden Forest. It looked like Neville's cauldron after it exploded. George wasn't 100% sure he could open the door yet. And no matter how hard he tried to guilt-trip Lee into helping him, he was met with his friend telling him he'd rather eat a cactus whole and then shit it out. What a mate!

"You bought a house, sir?" Dorothy looked like she was surprised that Gringott's trusted him with a business transaction. Well, the house was discounted on account of looking like a pile of dragon dung. Oh, and the ghost. "Is…does this have anything to do with the fact that—um… your wife walked in here a few weeks ago and told you that she'd rather sleep in Azkaban than spend another night over at your flat? Apparently, there's a space issue? And one of your neighbours have been bombarding your flat with flower, fruit and chocolate baskets because they always assume that she's pregnant. She said she's sick of explaining to people that she's just put on weight with the stress of the Quidditch season!"

To be honest, George thought that she was pregnant too. He'd even told his mum, but…um, he'd deal with that later.

If she was so concerned about her weight, she probably shouldn't be accepting three-kilo flower and chocolate arrangements from her neighbours and then scoffing the lot whilst complaining about the fact she didn't fit into her size eight Quidditch uniform. George didn't mind though. But it was a little insulting that his wife was the best Quidditch player in Appleby Arrows but all they cared about was the size of her thighs. For Merlin's sake, she was only a size twelve!

"No! I…I always wanted to buy a house!" George lied. Well, this new house had a teeny bit of space issue too now that Dorothy mentioned it… but he was sure once they managed to get the sixty-five heaving boxes, eight wonky tables, five battered couches and three-hundred-and-sixty-one copies of _The Daily Prophet_ out of the way, they'd have a lot more space.

"You did?" Dorothy eyed him. Why was his shop assistant interrogating them? "Oh… um… that's great, Mr Weasley!"

He hoped so. He had a sinking feeling that when Angelina set foot in their new house, she was going to torte his testicles and—

_BOOM!_ George peered through his shop window with the excitement of a first year going off to Honeyduke's with a couple of sickles he stole from his mum's purse. He could see Roger Davies in the middle of the crowd of the book signing. His handsome face was now covered in an amorphous substance (try finding out what creature did that, Davies!) after his 'new' shiny quill just exploded. Smears of rainbow-coloured spew was flying everywhere, followed by a signature firework display. George was grinning, but then felt his stomach turn when all of Roger's massive fans turned around. George recognised half of them as Prefects and Ravenclaws. They used to be in debate teams. They didn't look like they were laughing. George felt a steely feeling in his stomach.

"Sir, they don't look very happy," Dorothy pointed out. Wow. Did they teach her that at the Potion Extraction course?

"Um…is that the time?" George glanced at the clock, his hands shaking as they started banging at the shop door. What happened to people's senses of humour? There were more people laughing when Voldemort was reigning for Merlin's sake! "Um…time to-time to have lunch! I have Type X Diabetes and…will go into a coma if I don't have sugar _right now!" _

You'd think that was the only disaster of the day, but you'd be wrong. The second that he'd gotten back to the flat, Angelina was busy stuffing away thick fuzzy orange-coloured pyjamas into her duffel bags. "When are we moving?" she asked. He might have managed to tell her this morning that he'd finally paid for the house and could move in just to get on her good side. Apparently, it was a poor decision on his part considering his wife was insane. "George, pack your rubbish. I want to leave _NOW_. Those horrible snooty arseholes from next door won't stop shagging each other all day! The old lady downstairs keeps telling me that my Quidditch career is useless and someone nearly set me on fire!"

Why didn't they shag each other all day? When George thought of proposing this to her now, he felt his stomach tighten. Maybe later.

"Um…" George watched as she tossed over his favourite black-and-white Montrose Magpies Quidditch jumper and then an empty duffel bag. "How about we just slow down and—"

"George," Angelina glared at him. Did she really put on that much make-up usually? "Did you buy a house or not?"

Was that what she thought of him? George rolled his chocolate-brown eyes. "Yes, I did, but it's—" she continued throwing jumpers at him, oblivious to what he was saying. "It's a real mess, Ange. It looks like a second-hand junk shop that's gone rouge. It looks like a couple of drunken werewolves trashed the place… oh, and there's a ghost living there. Some guy that died there," he closed his eyes, only for Angelina to stop and stare at him like he'd just started speaking in Elvish.

"Do you think that's going to stop me from leaving this place?" Angelina huffed. "I'm not paying another month's rent if it kills me and I've already sent that bitch downstairs a strongly worded owl about where she could shove her 'slimming upholstery'."

George sighed deeply. You couldn't say that he hadn't tried, could you? "Ange, you have to listen to me—"

"I invited your parents over," Angelina cut him off, smoothing over her lacy maroon frock. "In fact, I invited your whole family over."

George went as pale as a box of Glacial Snowflakes. "What for?" he asked in a high-pitched voice. "Are we renewing our vows?"

"No, silly, they're bringing house-warming presents," Angelina reminded him. George didn't realise this when he married her, but Angelina bloody loved presents. Christmas shopping was a nightmare for her. She wanted everything under the sun from spa treatments and massages to expensive chocolate truffles that made George want to protest against the product of luxurious dairy products. "And of course, they also want to see how their ickle Georgie got on!"

Got on? George's head spun. Got on what? Gillyweed? "This is not a good idea," he would bet all his O.W.L's on it.

_"GEORGE?"_ Molly sounded out as she walked down the corridor. "Oh, love… congratulations! A house!"

"We're very proud of you," Arthur said, his jaw tight. Proud for what? Wasting his money on a pile of rubbish?

As if on cue, his mum just beamed at him in a way that left him uneasy. Arthur was holding a bunch of flowers for them. Where were they even going to put that? Maybe between the possibly dead Kneazle and the six duplicate scrolls that were written entirely in Ancient Runes, perhaps? George's lip was trembling. This was all wrong. Ron was already smirking at him and George just glared right back. He huffed, not wanting to acknowlege the fact that his ickle Ronniekin's was right. Meanwhile, Bill moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it.

"So, you actually got a bloody house!" Bill said, as if George had just aged fifty years. He was only twenty-bloody-eight for Merlin's sake. "Getting old, aren't we? What next, Georgie? Do you want to take out a pension plan?"

Charlie nodded his head, turning to lean against the wall. What did this guy do besides get more tanned and muscular each year? If he got any bigger and any more tanned, the Department of Magical Creatures would need to start putting him in his own category. "You do know that if you want to buy a house, Georgie, you have a mortgage. That's a _responsibility_," he said the word slowly.

Oh, sod off! How many times did he need to hear this? _Joining the Order is a responsibility! Owning a shop is a responsibility! _

"Who are you to talk, you old git? It's nice to see you, but I almost didn't recognise you with that male pattern baldness," George smirked, only for Bill to pale. He was thirty-five years old, and already had three children. George shuddered whenever he thought about it. Fortunately, Angelina was focusing on her career and George was thinking of getting a vasectomy just in case. Ron and Ginny were snickering at him, and Arthur and Molly were completely oblivious to the fact that his other children were taking the piss. "Listen, um… the house…it's a bloody mess," he whispered.

Ginny looked amused. "Want to vacuum the carpets?" she asked. "You can borrow my feather duster." You couldn't make quills out of them, could you?

George just stared at her. "I don't even know what colour the carpets are," he mumbled under his breath.

Nobody listened to his cries of distress, even when he was close to vomiting as they apparated away. The house was in Devon actually. In sweet, lovely Devon. In a forest. Secluded from everywhere, which so far was earning points for Angelina. But the snitch gave the game away this time because as soon as she saw the house, she'd turned into a sickly shade of mountain-troll green. It was absolutely crammed full of rubbish, so much so that it was leaking out of the broken windows. The whole yard was covered in bright red Ministry eviction notices, talking about how the house was 'not fit for living' and deemed 'unsanitary' by their standards.

The second that Angelina realised that this was their home, she looked like she'd given up on him.

"George," Angelina Johnson's eyes were bigger than Bludgers. "What in Merlin's name is _THAT?"_

A house! George wanted to reply. A regular old house. With you know, regular old house things…except for the fact that it was filled with so much useless rubbish it was practically oozing out of the broken windows.

His mum let out a shriek that sounded like a cross between a dragon giving birth and a banshee. "You are not living in that house!" she yelled out defiantly. "It doesn't even look like a house. It looks like a storage unit for all your father's rubbish!"

"It's not rubbish," Arthur whined, looking like a toddler that couldn't get his way. "They're priceless muggle antiques!"

"Dad, I don't know any antiques that have a use-by-date," Bill looked amused. His face looked just as mauled as usual. "And I'd be wary if I was you. 1974 was a long time ago. I bet Gin can't even imagine how life used to be like before—"

"Hey!" twenty-five-year-old Ginny shot him a look. "I can imagine 1974 just fine. Mum took _loads_ of pictures of you being toilet-trained."

Bill looked more flustered than when he proposed to his '_one-and-only love'._ Um… how vile.

George sighed. This wasn't a storage unit! This was where his children will grow up. After they set some parts of it on fire. Because even he knew that they couldn't exactly live in a house where they had more rubbish than Umbridge had decrees, right? Thinking about that year made him ill, because it was his and Fred's best year at Hogwarts. He couldn't think about it without feeling like his heart was about to be ripped out of his chest. Brilliant. It had been eight years and it still hurt.

This day was supposed to be a tremendous day. Unveiling of the house. They were supposed to be sipping champagne and eating canapés in the hot British sun. But these pathetic sods just couldn't wait until he had it cleaned!

Well, he'd warned Angelina, didn't he? He told her that they shouldn't have sent the landlord an owl about how Angelina hoped that she'd shove the heaving shaft of a Firebolt in her floppy, over-expanded uterus. And maybe, just maybe, Ange shouldn't have thrown an extra-potent toxic level dungbomb in the elevator after they'd left.

Now, he had no flat. He was stood here in the middle of a forest in Devon in nowhere, looking at a house that had probably been recently had a Cornish pixie infestation. The house was like a niffler's dream. It was a mild July morning. The sky looked like it was watery and uninspired. It looked like it had been coloured in by a first year that just couldn't be bothered. George was seriously considering _Confringo_-ing the whole house now that he thought about it. How daft did he have to be to actually buy it? And he didn't have a mortgage. The bloke that sold it to him asked for such a low price. He was able to pay up front with no problems! But George didn't even know if he really did do that legally so to speak. Maybe that was when the alarm bells should've started ringing off. He could practically hear his twenty-year-old dead twin laugh at him in his one good ear. He was such a moron sometimes.

On this mild summer day, George was boiling in his poor choice of dark robes. His mum wore a pair of red robes that made her look like a Quaffle. His dad had just come decked in his shockingly purple Ministry robes and had splotches of coffee everywhere (George bet a muggle coffee machine exploded. He didn't work hard enough to explain more than one leisurely cup of coffee, especially since he preferred tea). Bill was still in his Gringott's uniform that made him look like a bellhop in training instead of a hero of one of the greatest wars of all time. You'd think the scars helped you looked like you'd endured a great deal, but he just looked like a tosser. Charlie's all-green trousers and V-neck made him look like he was about to enter a Herbology greenhouse for the first time since he'd left Hogwarts about a million years ago.

Oh, and Ron and Ginny looked at him like he'd suddenly manage to lose O.W.L's…like he had much to begin with!

"I did say that it needed a little cleaning..." George reminded Angelina, who looked like she was about to explode.

"A little cleaning," Angelina echoed incredulous. She stared at him with solemn dark eyes and said, "I bet cleaning all the toilets in Hogwarts after the Halloween food poisoning epidemic of 1994 would be so much easier to clean than _THAT!"_

George flinched. Well, maybe she had a point. After all, he hadn't seen that much rubbish in one place since he'd gotten that ambiguous violet-coloured ear discharge in his same year. He'd seen less things hanging around in a secondhand junk shop. He didn't dare look back at his mum just in case she collapsed from _I-can't-believe-this_-itis. But… well, it cost less than Ron's…well, it was cheap for a house, alright? It was practically a steal. Who cared if it was haunted and that every other person that did a house tour ended up shaking in a St Mungo's ER from _shock?_ How scary could the big bad ghost haunting the toilets really be? George lived his childhood with a ghoul in the attic and he turned out just fine! And what if it was a little out of order? It was certainly not something to cry over. After all, they'd just survived two wars. But you wouldn't know that with how Angelina wobbled around, looking at his parents like they had an explanation for why he was so irresponsible.

He was not _that_ irresponsible, alright? Besides, George bought an automated wizarding cleaning system that only cost him a hundred Galleons. He bet that next week, the house would be so clean they'd be able to host vigils for Fred. If you know, he had the patience to light all those candles! Who was the boring old prat that did that job anyway? Anyway, it wasn't like Fred wanted any vigils. George would know considering they were twins and all. And George wished he was dead the first year after Fred's death, but he was coping. Which was why he should be appalled that he was being questioned like this by his own wife. What happened to supporting him through better and for worse?

"Who lived in here before?" Ron gawked. "A group of raging mountain trolls throwing a wild stag party?"

"Alright, smart arse, it might not be the nicest looking house but it's still better than the dwarf's shoebox you're raising poor Rosie and Hugo in," George piped in, only for Ron's ears to turn red. He was sure if he moved some things around, and tidied up a bit, this house was going to look bloody great. "Besides, um…if you remove the junk and the ghost, then it's really a steal for the price they've given me at. It's cheaper than a bloody Firebolt."

Except a Firebolt was a top of the line broom and this house was scraping the bottom of a werewolf-mauled didn't help that everyone was staring at him like he'd just revealed that he went back to Hogwarts and got all 12 O.W.L's.

"This is a house?" Molly reiterated, deadpanned. Um, it got walls, a door and a roof. What else would it be? "A _house_."

"Well, I never said that I was going to be buying a manor!" George reminded them. His voice was so high that bits of wood started falling from the ceiling. Maybe he should have that looked at when he had the chance. But he doubted that it would cost much. Hey, he could get Arthur to look at it. He tossed a look at his father, but he looked pale.

"Let me guess," Ron smirked, "Was the Shrieking Shack not for sale by any chance?"

But honestly, they should be happy for him. This was a reasonable business transaction after all! Charlie looked like he was shitting bricks. But what did he know? All he cared about was nursing deadly beasts back to health and banning dragonhide boots in _Witch Weekly_ magazine.

"Georgie," Angelina's voice was sweeter than Honeyduke's. Aye. She was going to beat him with his own Beater's bat he was pretty sure. "I hope that this is a fucking joke."

She looked like she wanted him to suddenly announce that their real house was somewhere in rich luxurious London, overlooking a spa for overly stressed Quidditch players that married rouge, athletic joke shop owners. And if he wanted to keep his head intact, he probably should say it was a joke and that this was just 'a memorial for all those ineffective Weasley's Wizard Wheezes prototypes. Where do you think I put them? Dad's shed?' which of course, he _did_. It was why he was stuffing all that rubbish in the Burrow now and his mum had had enough of that. But how was George supposed to know that his mum noticed? It wasn't like they had clean living rooms anyway. Maybe he overdid it with the lamp that shrieked whenever you looked at it? Um… it was a priceless muggle antique?

"Well?" Angelina broke George out of his thoughts. "Do you really expect us to live here?"

What did she expect him to say ? 'That? That's not the house… oh, that's just my coffin, love!'

"Well, you didn't want to live in the flat! Where do you think money grows on? Whomping Willows? And if you would've listened to me when I said it wasn't ready, maybe we could delay moving in! But you just _had_ to tell the landlord that you hoped that she got bitten by an army of glumbumbles and hope she'd spend her days out in the Janus Thickey Ward!" George reminded her. It was a miracle that she didn't hex him right then and there for being a waffling twat. "But…um…I bet that it looks lovely once you know, it's clean. It's a pretty big house too. I bet there will be a lot of space once you…"

Angelina just gawked at him as if he was mental for even considering it. "Space?" she then shrieked, _"WHAT__ SPACE?"_

"Do you want to live to the shop?" George offered. He might as well be living there anyway—

"I don't want to live in your shop!" Angelina yelled. "Sometimes, I wonder if you'd hired a Dementor as a shop assistant. Dorothy has about as much tact as curdled milk. I've never met a woman that could suck your soul out by asking about your business transactions! And I can't take another three-am bail-first-years-out-of-Azkaban emergency because your shop is open twenty-four-seven!"

"You _did_ share a dormitory with three girls… this is the same!" George reminded her. He bet Angelina could live in an actual burrow if she wanted to. He bet that she didn't need any space at all. You never really did once you thought about it. And the backyard was plenty gigantic. You'd think she'd be glad you thought of her Quidditch career when you assessed the yard but _no!_ "Besides, don't you think that this place has character? How many other houses do you know already come pre-stocked with everything?"

"It's pre-stocked alright," Charlie mocked. "With a new dragonpox epidemic you mean."

"There is absolutely no way on Earth," Molly looked livid. Her unkempt red hair looked like a Kneazle's hairball. "No way in this planet that I'll…" she'll what? Bake him cookies just in case whatever lived under the couch ate it? But it wasn't like they could move into the Burrow. It was covered in nappies and bottles. Ron and Hermione were still living there with all their bouncing babies plus a bubbly, skinny little James was probably working on giving his mum an early aneurysm.

"Mum, I lived through losing my twin," George tried to guilt her. "You think I can't handle sorting out a house?"

"House? This place is not a house! It looks more toxic than one of your Portable Swamps," Angelina told him. "There are notices everywhere! _EVICTION_ notices from the bloody Ministry of Magic!" she gestured towards the pile of eviction notices outside the house. It was kind of unsettling to see all those Gryffindor-red coloured notices everywhere. But they did add colour to the place. "This place looks like it has more ghosts than Hogwarts does!"

George flinched. "Well, um… you said you liked company!" he reminded her. "But there's only really one ghost. It's only just a _little_ haunted…"

"A little haunted," Angelina echoed. "Godric, I hope whoever it is was a divorce lawyer in the Wizengamot before he croaked."

"Eviction notices!" Molly yelled, as if Angelina didn't just say that. "That just settles it. There's no way… Arthur?"

"They're _muggle antiques_, Mollywobbles," Arthur supplied weakly, looking at her with a downtrodden expression.

"Your son might as well live in a rubbish bin but all you care about is your bloody antiques!" Molly hotly replied. She turned to George. "And love, I really have seen cleaner rubbish bins."

George groaned. Don't buy a house, your wife tells your customers that you don't want to make an effort. Buy a house and get reamed because it happened to be a teeny bit haunted and needed a little cleaning. And like Angelina kept a tidy space. You should see what she did to their shower. There were more Primpernelle's products than there were in the actual shop. And don't get George started on her knickers drawer. It looked like someone just went on a panty raid and was so ecstatic he picked up someone's extensive collection of granny knickers. You'd think being married to a vivacious twenty-seven-year-old professional Quidditch player made for an interesting sex life. But it was about as exciting as melted vanilla ice-cream.

"So what did you expect when you'd bought the house, love? That your mum is going to clean this place?" Angelina smirked at him, and George felt like his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

"Clean this place?" Molly echoed like it was an unfathomable task, like Ron running for the Minister of Magic.

George then shuddered. "I don't need mum's help," oh, rubbish. He needed her help. "I have an automated cleaning system! I bet that by tomorrow, this place is going to be so clean you could eat off the floor!"

"I don't even know if there is a floor in that house," Bill said. Bastard. "Shall we bother going in to inspect the damage?"

George really didn't want to go in. He remembered how hard it was to get in the first place.

On the outside, the house didn't look great. Paint was chipping off. Some of the walls looked sloppy, and the windows were all broken. When he tried to jimmy the lock open, the doorknob made a squeaking sound. It sounded like Scabbers being choked to death. It was a little hard getting to the door on the basis that it might as well be glued shut from all the things that were piling up against the door. Other than that, the living room wasn't as bad as he remembered it. There was an, um… spot on the table that looked rather free. It was a little small, but it wasn't like he was the tallest Weasley in the family, was he? He was only five-foot-seven. Or maybe six. Sometimes five when St Mungo's measured him. But George blamed _Witch Weekly_ magazine for the unrealistic body ideals of men. Not everyone could be a giraffe like Ron, could they? And it wasn't like being six-foot-infinity helped him look anymore attractive. He looked like someone accidentally overstretched their saltwater taffy!

Angelina looked like she was about to faint when she walked in, which was cowardly of her. You faced a war that nearly annihilated half of the wizarding populace and you were a little scared because of a few boxes you had to unpack?

_"GEORGE!"_ Molly shrieked so loud that she'd probably scared whatever ghost was haunting this place.

Arthur cleared his throat. "A little cleaning," he reminded him. Alright. It was going to need a massive clean and it was going to take ages. George had never met a house that needed an enema before, but it looked like this would be the one. The smells wafting from the carpets was so bad that George felt like he should keep it aside to engineer even more-potent potent dungbombs.

"Blimey," Ron looked like he'd rather help Harry face You-Know-Who again. "This place is haunted, huh? The last bloke that lived here died, right? I bet he got crushed by all this rubbish and died because nobody could be bothered to help him," he gestured towards all the slopping pieces of furniture. And was that table floating in the middle of the living room?

George just shrugged. "I don't know how he died," he admitted. "I've come here before too, but I've never met any ghost. Probably hiding away. The bloke that sold me this house said he'd never actually seen him, but someone definitely said that someone died here." The war had been really cruel.

Arthur looked ill. "Did you pay for this?" George only nodded his head. "Can you talk about getting your money back?"

"No, dad, I can't," George said plainly. "Um… the bloke that sold this to me… kind of just disappeared without a trace."

Maybe he should've paid more attention in Divination and he wouldn't been able to predict when he'd been ripped off.

"You were dumb enough to buy it in the first place," Ginny snorted. "Are you going to pay us if we help you clean?"

"Of course, we are," Angelina answered for him. She and George had not been on the same wavelength. His answer was going to be _sod off_. "Well, I'm not…but I'm sure George will be happy to pay for your services. Wouldn't you, love?"

"Ecstatic," George replied dryly. Why should he pay them? They didn't ask Harry to fork over his family fortune when they were out chasing horcruxes! But ask for a few boxes to be moved around and...

After begrudgingly agreeing to pay his family for helping him with the cleaning, they were able to move around some of the stray boxes and piles of _The Daily Prophet_ blocking the path to the kitchen and stairs. When a little of the carpet was exposed, George felt his stomach flip. It was so moldy! He didn't even know carpet could grow mould. But George felt like they already had so much more space even if he wanted to incinerate his sinuses. Who could live here? Merlin, he knew that they were all in safe houses after the war, but this was horrible. He even tried to sit on the couch—up until he realised that he'd flattened a dead mouth. Lovely. The person that died here probably was a werewolf that hadn't discovered Wolfsbane.

"George, is that dead body still here?" Angelina asked, looking at him with a hardened expression. George wasn't completely sure. "Did you really spend money on this house that might have a dead body in it? Oh Godric, who even sold you this house?"

"Well, it was a mate of a mate of a mate's brother," George explained. He was probably sipping Ogden's in the sun now…

"Godric, what if someone wants this house back?" Angelina hotly asked him. "Was the transaction actually legal? We might not even actually own this dump!"

"Yes, we do!" George shrieked. "I paid a thousand Galleons for it! One time over. No take backs. But at least I don't have to pay anymore than that anymore, alright?" he then paused, because the look on Angelina's face made her look like she wanted to give up on her life entirely. A thousand Galleons for a house wasn't much…

"A thousand Galleons!" Arthur looked dizzy. "For a house that someone _DIED_ in! May I ask you, George, was this person ever buried? Because I am sure that underneath all this-this junk is probably some ninety-year-old's corpse!"

"He wasn't ninety years old. He was a kid," George admitted. "Twenty-something years old. Three or four? I think during the war…?"

"That's eight years ago!" Molly yelled. "A twenty-three-year-old left to rot in a house for eight years?"

"I don't know, mum," George did think it was a little secluded. Maybe he was mental, but he couldn't imagine not burying your own flesh and blood and letting him rot alone in the house for eight years. He shuddered. But maybe his parents had died during the first war. Or even the second one. Maybe his whole family line got annihilated...

"We'll give him a proper burial," Molly looked determined. George slowly nodded his head. "Where is the ghost?"

George just shrugged. "Apparently, he's shy." What did he have to be shy for? The bloke was dead for Merlin's sake."I haven't seen him when I was here before either."

Maybe there was a dead body underneath all that…um, carpeting. Yes, George decided. The bloke that lived here before was just a little heavy-handed on all the carpet and boxes. But a part of George was hoping that they'd probably unpack some of these boxes and find out that there was nothing there. Maybe he had an obsession with collecting cardboard boxes. Maybe the dead body smell probably came from some aged bottle of wine or something.

"I can't believe you paid so much for a house that someone died in!" Angelina yelled. "And probably was never buried!"

"Well, um…he's buried alright," George was sure he might be squashed under all those books. Who needed so many books anyway? It was like a bloody library except, you know, much more disorganised. There were ten copies of the same edition of Gilderoy Lockhart's _Voyages with Vampires_ stacked up right in front of him. "We'll bury him if we find his body! I'm sure that our little ghost is going to appreciate it. Nice war heroes like us coming into his house to tidy up and-and—"

"You are not tidying up in my house," he heard a voice from behind him.

"Did someone hear that?" George asked, and they looked at him like he was mental. Nobody heard that?

Funny. That voice sounded like _Percy_ almost. You know, Percy. The turncoat brother that George hadn't seen in years. The stupid git that wasn't there to help them fight during the second-wizarding war and took the Ministry's side through all of that. That horrible arsehole that hadn't even showed up to Fred's funeral. After he was a no-show in Fred's funeral, his mum had given up on him. She'd even just torn his handle out of the clock after that. Who didn't attend their own fucking brother's _funeral?_ He probably still worked in a boring department in the Ministry and organised his schedule in a way that he was never in the elevator at the same time as his own father. Yeah, that Percy. Worse than a sodding Death Eater, because he bet that even Peter Pettigrew went to visit Black at least once or twice when he'd put him in Azkaban.

George looked around, and then stared at Angelina. "Did you hear that?" he asked. "It sounded like Percy."

You should see the chill in the air when you said that name. Silencing charms had nothing on it. His whole family were shades of white and grey. George felt like an arsehole for even saying Percy's name.

"Don't talk about that git," Bill's eyes hardened. George stiffened, shuddering. Even his mum looked absolutely livid.

Angelina's reaction was calmer. "Love, does it look like your obsessive-compulsive brother would step foot in this place?"

"I…I guess not," George replied softly. "Sorry," he apologised. Great, now he'd ruined their mood by mentioning the git.

George supposed that she had a point. Percy was a obsessive, tidy bastard that probably an aneurysm when his biscuit wasn't perfectly circular. Granted that George hadn't seen Percy in years, but he couldn't imagine that he'd somehow managed to get rid of that permanently dislodged gigantic broomstick up his arse. Merlin, he hadn't seen Percy in so long he forgot what that piece of wet parchment even looked like!

Over the last few years, his mum had turned Percy's room into a nursery. They hadn't even thought about him since after the war. They never talked about him, except in passing just to mention how he might as well be dead to them. The last time George had seen him was after he had a drunken altercation with him at the pub a month after Fred's funeral and that was about eight years back.

Since then, Percy became the new Voldemort. You didn't just say his _name_.

George shook the thought out of his mind. Why would he be hearing Percy's voice? Was he hallucinating? He hadn't even thought about Percy in years. Why should he? He was a stupid git. About eight years back, he'd sent them a letter a few months after Fred's funeral and his mum tossed it in the fire without a second look. _That_ was how bad things were! If he felt so bad about abandoning them, then he should come up to the Burrow and apologise himself instead of cowering in his shiny Ministry loafers.

"Maybe we should go into the kitchen now," Arthur decided to break the silence. "Start cleaning."

"Cleaning?" there it was again; George felt his heart pound. That was _Percy's_ voice. It was Percy's bloody voice! How could nobody else hear that? "Not in my house!"

His house? What did he mean his house? Not unless...

But there was no way in hell that Percy died in here. This house was bloody chaos and Percy was so neurotic he took all his clothes from the laundry basket and refolded them because he didn't like the way their own mum did it! Did that sound like a bloke that would have a mouldy carpet for Merlin's sake? Besides, how could George not know that his own brother had been dead for eight years? There was no way. And even if he did die in this house, why should he care? He hadn't even bothered going to Fred's funeral! But then George thought to the letter they'd set on fire and felt his heart ache. It was the only letter Percy sent them in eight years. He'd had something tied along with it, a package that nobody even bothered opening before they'd _Incendio_-ed it in a fit of fury. What if it had been his last letter and they just tossed it in the fire? What if he'd needed help and they didn't help him and now, he really was dead?

_No, no, NO. _George tried to tell himself. Percy was a bloody git and a liar and-and… but what if? What if it really was his voice? What if he'd died in this house all alone?

"Come on," said Molly softly. "We can go into the kitchen and throw out some of the food in the fridge. It smells rank in there! Even more so than anywhere else!"

To try and busy himself, George joined them in the kitchen. He felt dizzy at how bad this place smelled. There was absolutely no way that Percy lived here. He'd probably rather kill himself than live in this absolute disaster. He turned around, looking for a ghost but saw nothing. How come his parents were going about, completely oblivious? Didn't anyone else hear Percy's voice? He looked around for recognition and got none. Even with apparition, it was more difficult to find a clean spot in the kitchen than it was for the Sirius Black to break into Hogwarts in Harry's third year. There was a foul, manky smell coming from the fridge. When George managed to pry it open with all his strength (and he was a Beater!), he felt disgusted at the trees that were growing out of the expired milk cartons.

When George took the carton out, he heard a voice shriek, "That's not yours! Leave it alone!" he honestly that that was…

George turned around and dropped the congealed looking milk carton on the ground. Standing—pardon him—floating in front of him was an extremely pale, emaciated Percy Weasley. His curly red hair was duller than grey paint. His cheekbones were sunken in from famine. His eyebrows knitted in frustration. George felt his heart race and he was sweating like he was sat in Romania, helping Charlie with the dragons. He hadn't seen Percy in years. He never thought he'd see him like this. It spooked him to see Percy dead. He was twenty-three? Twenty-four? He'd been younger than Ginny was right now when he died and…his mum wanted to bury that 'poor kid's body.' She couldn't know that it was her own kid that she'd be burying. She just couldn't.

George rubbed his eyes a few times, just to make sure, you know. Just in case he saw wrong and-

"What did you do?" Molly broke him out of his thoughts. George looked down at the toxic milk spill. "Like this place needs another mess!"

That was when George realised nobody else could see Percy. His family was _so_ oblivious, seeing through the ghostly apparition in front of him that looked like he was about to have an aneurysm because George dared to toss out his mold-infested milk carton. Under his breath, George cursed his twin brother because this had to be a joke. This just _had_ to be!

"George?" Percy looked surprised that he could see him too. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!"


	2. Fainting Is Mentioned A Few Times

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Two: Fainting Is Mentioned A Few Times

* * *

"There's a ghost, isn't there, Georgie?" Bill smirked as he looked up from a fifth carton of expensive yoghurt pots. By the way, the kitchen covered surface to surface with food. It didn't make any sense as to why Percy would starve to death. That had to be what happened, didn't it? George looked at Percy's figure, still transfixed by the fact that his six-foot-two brother was so thin that his chest was caving in. His cheeks were sharper than his wife's wit. "The ghost chose you. Maybe he wants you to extend his hoarding problem. Maybe he wants you to complete his _Daily Prophet_ collection."

Looking closer to someone that was dying of dragonpox, George Weasley was sure he nearly fainted into the curdled milk puddle. He couldn't believe he was in a kitchen that was crammed with more rubbish than Filch's living quarters.

"Don't be so disrespectful, dear," Molly said, putting down a fossilised loaf of breath that should be handed over to a museum. "I'm sure that you don't want to hurt George's new ghost friend's feelings now, would you? _HELLO!_ Love, I'm going to find your body and bury you!" she waved at the wall. The funny thing was that Percy was stood in front of her.

"Merlin, mum, you're going to scare it away!" Bill frowned at her. His mum could be mad. But Percy already knew that.

"Mum?" Percy looked at his mum like he'd expected that she would notice he was there. "Mum? Can you see me?"

"Do you know how you sound like?" Ron asked their mum. "You can't just tell George's new mental ghost friend that you're going to bury him. Especially straight after Bill asks him if he's going to make George extend his hoarding habits! I mean everyone knows that whoever died here was mental without you having to go on about it. So," he turned to George. He then asked in a tone that was much louder than a whisper, "What does he look like? Is he really twenty-three? Does he look like a basket case? Ask him if he wants an autograph from Harry Potter. Maybe that'll cheer him up."

"He's dead," Ginny reminded him. "I doubt that Harry's signature is going to help cheer up someone that can't sell it!"

Ron gasped, clutching at his horrific thin lime-green jumper. "And all this from Harry's biggest fan?" he asked, shaking in mock-horror. "Now that you've married him, you don't think that he's all that anymore, do you, Gin?"

"Married?" Percy looked stunned. Yes, well, Ginny would've invited him to the wedding if he'd bothered coming to Bill's.

"Yeah, Perce," George whispered. "Harry married Gin. They have three kids. And so do Bill and Fleur. Ron and Hermione have two kids too." Percy tried to process this but looked like he'd failed to. So much for 12 O.W.L's.

George then looked at Angelina, and then cleared his throat. Before he could say anything, Percy noticed the ring.

"I've…I've not been to anyone's wedding," Percy said in the softest voice possible. "You're married…but you're…I…"

"Well, you had a chance to go to Bill's!" George hissed back as low as possible. "Do you have a good excuse for _that? _Maybe Ron and Gin didn't want to fucking bother. And maybe _I_ didn't either, you sodding git," he then realised that if they hadn't completely cut out contact with his brother, they might know that he, you know, died eight years back.

When he was met with silence, all George could ask was, _"Well?"_ he felt anger rise in him. Who did Percy think he was?

"I was ill," Percy admitted, looking at the counter. There were stacks of expired Honeyduke's strawberry milk, which Percy was deathly allergic to in the first bloody place. He couldn't eat a trace of a trace of a strawberry without blowing up like Harry's Aunt Marge—oh, but it wasn't as funny as her blowing up because he'd be dying. "I…had—_have_ a problem."

"You mean the hoarding?" George huffed, looking at him with a hardened expression. "Forgot how to apparate?"

Percy's face just hardened. "No—well, yes, I do have a minor problem with hoarding things but that only happened when…I had a problem with—um… I believe the correct term is agoraphobia." After noticing the confusion on George's face, Percy cleared his throat. "I have a rather irrational fear of leaving the house," he explained. "In fact, I have left the house exactly three times since 1996. And one of those times were _after_ my death!" Percy admitted, stiffening.

"Why?" George didn't understand. Why would Percy have a fear of leaving the bloody house in the first place?

Percy just shrugged. "Well, err… after I found out that Harry was right, I was so humiliated that I asked the Minister if I could work from home and he agreed. I suppose that dad was right, and the Minister _wasn't_ besotted with my determination and hard work," he admitted softly. He looked so pathetically sad. "I suppose I must've stayed in the house for some time, because when I attempted to leave to buy quills, I felt apprehensive. I had this…this feeling that everyone was talking about me everywhere that I went. I suppose I blacked out in the middle of Diagon Alley and was even more embarrassed to have a pregnant woman try to help _ME_ up. I couldn't shave off the feeling that everyone was mocking me for my…my foolishness. I had only been out of the house for two minutes, but I couldn't take it. Even though everyone seemed rather worried, it was unsettling. So, I suppose after that incident, I just… did not bother leaving the house. I had no reason to! There were catalogues now that help you order everything you need…and I suppose in my case, _more_ than I need. But the house was so large, and I suppose that I felt like I could just add a few decorations. Just to help liven it up a bit."

"It looks about as lively as a troll's dwelling," George replied, but then felt his heart ache. It was just like Percy to faint because he thought that the whole world revolved around him, but it explained why Percy didn't join them in the Battle of Hogwarts. If he couldn't get himself a quill without having a panic attack, how was he supposed to fight Death Eaters?

"I… I'm aware," Percy said, looking away from George's face. "I was—I am… really ill. I…I understand that this does not excuse my absence, but I hope that you would find it in you to attempt to forgive me for my inadequacies."

As George gawked at him, Percy looked ashamed. Ashamed of what? Being sick? Using gigantic words for no reason?

"Perce, I…" George whispered but he paused what he was saying when he noticed that Percy looked even paler than a…well, he was a ghost, but he looked like the palest ghost that George had ever seen. _"Percy?"_

George swallowed the lump in his throat because he was not going to feel sorry for the git just because his family didn't even know that he was there. Just because he was sick, alright? But it hurt to see this anyway. Percy might as well be wearing an invisibility cloak. A shocked Percy floated towards his father, staring at him with big cornflower blue eyes.

"Is that mum and dad?" Percy asked. They didn't even flinch. He might as well not be there. "They look so… so old."

_OLD?_ George reiterated, as if he wanted to laugh at him but then he realised the lines in his parents' skin, and the streaks of white in his mum's hair. His father's face was sagging like a Romanian crup. When did they start looking like that? They were just forty a few days back… now, his dad hunched over like he was carrying the family clock on his back!

"I can't believe you're going on about autographs," Molly crossed her arms over her chest. "If you're going to give the ghost one, it should be specially made, you know. He can't get the same autograph as everyone else. He's been a very nice ghost thus far. He's obviously letting George live in his house, which is more than I could say for the one in—"

"Mum? Don't get this the wrong way, but when did your hair turn white?" George finally announced, only for Molly to flush. She was obviously embarrassed. "Dad, your face! You've went and become… old! When did _that_ happen?"

"You didn't notice?" Percy's eyes widened. Well, you didn't notice these things when they happened slowly!

Ron burst into laughter. "Oh, you're getting it!" he told George, as if he'd said something insulting. "I can't believe you!"

"What?" George looked confused. "I…I just never noticed it before is all! I mean, they were just forty!"

"I don't look _OLD!"_ Molly's voice was shrill as she peered into the mirror and shrieked. "When did this happen?! I was just twenty a few days back! What is this gigantic white streak in my hair? I look like I've bleached it! Why is my skin sagging? I've been using Primpernelle's Younger and Livelier than Ever! But I...I look like McGonagall's twin sister!" she cried out.

Arthur then moved towards his wife, placing a hand on her shoulders. "I think you look lovely," he said and then he peered into the dirty mirror. He looked like he was the one that had just seen a ghost. "Is that what I _look_ like?!"

"Mr and Mrs Weasley, I think you look quite nice!" Angelina said, shooting a glare at George. "This house just has fumes!"

"Yes, yes," Molly smoothed over her hair. "I'm sure it's just the mirror too! It ages you! Which is expected. I mean I'd be depressed too, if I knew that I'd died that young… I'm sure he probably looks like an old goat in this mirror. Yes. Georgie, darling, what's the ghost's name? It would be nice if we could call him by his _real_ name and not just 'the ghost'."

"Mother, there is nothing wrong with my mirror," Percy was ignored. Even if Molly could hear him, she'd ignore him.

George looked at Percy. "His name is… um, Percival." Did you know how _common_ that name was in the wizarding world? Even Dumbledore had Percy in his name. Well, along with every other name under the sun. "It's a common name where he comes from. You know, in the depths of…of…Brighton…Canterbury…Peckham…he moved around a lot!"

"_That's_ why you called him Percy!" Arthur paused a moment, saying that name like it made him choke. "You obviously hadn't been talking about…well, about him. Nobody talks about him anymore. Maybe I should stop talking about _him_…"

"Are you talking about me?" Percy looked seriously offended. "But I'm…I'm your son, you ancient—!"

Before George could change the topic, Molly just sighed deeply. "I don't know what's happened to him," she admitted, her shoulders slouching back. "He used to be such a good child. But he just left us for what? For the Ministry? What about Bill's wedding? What about-about Fred's funeral? How could he not come to Fred's funeral?" she was shaking.

Percy looked as confused as Ron during his exams. "How could you not know about _my death?_ What about the clock?"

"Well…um…" George remembered Fred's handle falling off after his death. "Perce, mum tore your handle off the clock," he said in the lowest voice he could.

Percy tried to pretend that it wasn't bothering him, but he looked like he was in serious pain. Could ghosts even feel pain?

He looked at George like he didn't know what he'd done that was so profoundly wrong to receive this reception. If this was any other situation, George would've bitten his head off. But not in this instance. Just as the stony feeling formed in his chest, George's stomach flipped when he saw Percy's eyes fixed on the scars on Bill's face. A whimper left Percy's mouth before he could even say a word. He looked like he wanted to disappear. This was such a bloody mess. The only person in the room that could see how distressed Percy was was George. Everyone else was completely unaware of the fact that the 'house ghost' was having a breakdown.

"What happened to Bill's face? He looks so…" Percy whispered; his voice so low that George's heart ached. He hadn't seen it since after, and he looked like he'd rather have his own eyes gauged out than look at him. His breathing hitched, which was weird because he didn't need to breathe. Percy was a ghost. Dead people didn't breathe. "Does it hurt?"

"I don't reckon," George added on. "Perce, um… about mum and dad and… the clock…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Percy said hotly, then reached over to feel for Bill's face. He shuddered, pulling his vest down. Percy's eyes then drifted to Charlie, and he looked mortified. Charlie looked better in his older years. He aged like a luxurious cheese... but not like the cheese in Percy's house that was for sure.

When Percy wandered towards Ginny and Ron, he looked like he'd been smacked in the face.

"Merlin, not only is this house bloody disgusting, the heating's not working either!" Bill shuddered. Percy flinched because nobody wanted to hear that their house was disgusting, even if it was. And if Percy couldn't see that, he was crazier than George took him for. "It's just one more problem after another," he looked at George. "I can't bloody believe you paid for a house where that some twenty-four-year-old obsessive hoarder died in. Probably crushed by a box he was moving around. Poor, poor Percival."

Percy looked at Bill like he was really offended. "I'm twenty-two," he corrected. "But you're…you're so much... so much older than me." He looked shocked at how old everyone was. George was sure that Percy probably thought it was still 1998 in his head.

George's heart stopped. Percy didn't know that it had already been eight years. How could he know? He never left this bloody house. Every day was the exact same.

"Stop making fun of Percival, Bill. He still lives in this house after all. I'm sure he's talking George's ear off right now, isn't he? We've been noticing that you've been having your little side conversations, but we didn't want to disturb you!" Molly looked at George as if waiting for confirmation. He didn't give her one. "George is already friends with him, aren't you? Does this Percival remember where he'd died? I mean…I know he's ill and is a hoarder and everything but even he has to be able to see that this place needs a little bit of cleaning, doesn't he? Anyway, I'm sure that if we clean this place up, we're going to be helping him anyway. Do ghosts even have hoarding tendencies?"

"I could've stopped when I wanted," Percy said in a soft voice. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm unstable."

"_You_ could've stopped when you wanted? Oh, I believe that!" George sounded out so loudly that even Angelina looked over at him. She looked like she was busy trying to polish off some sticky-looking glass-like substance that was glued onto the cupboards. It really wasn't coming off. "This house is covered with your rubbish! It's covered ceiling to ceiling with things you don't even need…well, unless you have a reason for buying industrial tins of broom polish. I'm sure you don't even own a bloody broom! Where would you put it? So, what do you mean you could've stopped when you wanted to?"

"I could've," Percy weakly replied, looking just as ashamed as he was when he talked about his agoraphobia.

If his agoraphobia was half as bad as his hoarding, then maybe he could understand why he never went to Fred's funeral.

Percy went quiet. Great. George didn't expect to hurt his bloody feelings. He floated towards him with a soft expression. He placed his hands on his cheeks. George felt a brush of cold air and started shivering from the cold. Percy bit down his lip. He stopped trailing his hand when he'd gotten to where George's ear had been torn off.

"You've-you've grown up too, George," Percy said stiffly, floating closer to him. "Your ear, you…" George felt sick.

Remember when that happened? During the war Percy had never been to because he was busy making sure his cauldron thickness reports got ready on time? George found himself unable to talk, mostly because his heart was probably going to leap out of his chest. Was Percy like a Thestral? Except you had to lose a twin to be able to see him? Because why else would it be that he was the only one that could see him? Now that he was so close, George realised how eerily bony his hands looked like. Percy's baggy shirt slipped down his pointy, freckled shoulder. Did he die looking that disgusting? The closer he was, the more horrified George felt having to look at his sunken cheeks and gigantic eyes boring into his soul!

_ "GET AWAY FROM ME!"_ George shrieked out loud, and everyone was staring at him now.

Percy inched backwards. Would he stop looking at him like a Kneazle that had been run over by the Knight Bus? He didn't feel sorry for him. He didn't care about the fact that he'd been dead for eight years. Why in Merlin's name should he?

"George?" Angelina grabbed his hand. "Trouble in paradise? Should we leave you and your new ghost friend alone?"

"Um…um…" George looked at Percy's form in front of him. If he'd gone mental, he'd be imagining his own twin brother. Not the bloke that he hadn't given a single thought of in the last eight years. "He touched my face." He explained. "And you know how much I enjoy my face, Ange. It's why I'm not a Chaser. Like _I_ could risk a Bludger ruining my face!"

He couldn't believe Percy. He just had to die, didn't he? Wasn't it bad enough he was still coping with Fred's death? Now, he had this arsehole's secret to take with him to the grave, and he didn't know how he could possibly tell anyone that—

"Yes, love, I know," Angelina closed the gap between them and kissed him. But he couldn't kiss her back because he felt like he was about to faint. Why did he feel like this? But then she paused, "George? Are you having a _panic attack?"_

"What?" Percy looked at him like he couldn't believe that George could ever feel a negative emotion in his life. Bastard.

_"I AM NOT!"_ George replied almost instantly, feeling his fingers twitching. He felt like he was about to double over.

George clutched his chest. He was breathing rapidly. What was it about saying out loud that you were having a panic attack that made people rush over? His heart was racing, and he was sweating like he'd just finished a Quidditch match. He was flushed and he had the worst stabbing chest pain. And his family was stealing all his bloody air by being around him. Alright. George did get the odd panic attack after Fred's death but it was fine! It happened when your twin died! It was normal.

"George?" Angelina reiterated again, her hand gripping his arm tightly. "Love, are you okay? Do you want some water?"

"I don't want any bloody water," alright, maybe George did feel a little thirsty, but it wasn't going to help. him, so why would he bother? "I'm fine."

His family looked at him like they were afraid that this was going to be it. This was the delayed mental breakdown they thought that he was going to have years after losing Fred. He knew they thought about when they looked at him. He knew that even though they acted like he was fine; they knew he wasn't fine at all. That deep down, he was bitter and unhappy and—

"Do you want to get out of here?" Ron asked softly. He didn't do anything softly but with George, he made the exception.

George nodded his head. "No, I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine," he finally said. "I'm just bloody fantastic." When he met with Percy's face, he could see how terrified he looked like. Great. He had to deal with him too. He bet he had panic attacks every time someone threw one of his dirty, wet sopping boxes away. Well, he'd just have to deal with it, wouldn't he? He was cleaning this place because he wasn't living in a house that had atrocious sunflower-patterned wallpaper peeling off!

"Love?" Molly looked like she was scared he'd stab himself and say he couldn't do it anymore. "Love, are you…?"

"George, what's wrong?" Percy asked, looking completely confused. Why was he confused? This was all his fault!

"Maybe we should look at other flats," George decided. He didn't want to live with his dead brother forever. It had only been half an hour and already George was losing it! Godric knew how they were going to spend a bloody year. Then in a voice that was so low that he was sure that only Percy could hear, "I feel bad, okay? I didn't want you to die. I can't live in this bloody house having to look at your bloody face all day, knowing that we didn't know, alright? Are you happy?"

"George, what are you muttering about?" Molly cooed. "It's-it's going to be okay, love. We know it's hard. Losing Fred."

"This is not about _FRED!"_ George yelled, which to them, meant it had to be about Fred. "Not everything is about him!"

Percy looked surprised. George would've been insulted if not for the times that he thought that Percy might as well be dead. It really wasn't the bloody same as knowing that your twenty-two-year-old brother actually did die in a flobberworm's resort, miserable and sick and alone.

Even if he wasn't completely mentally ill, you'd think that that triumphed the anger that he felt for Percy missing a funeral. They held a ten-year grudge because of what happened on two days of that bloody year. The battle and the funeral. Nobody even thought that something must've happened for him not to come because he didn't visit their dad in the hospital. So, it _must_ mean that he didn't care about the fact that they had to endure dragging Fred's body out of the rubble.

How bloody heartless did they think that he was? George was almost embarrassed that he'd genuinely believed that.

Angelina looked unconvinced. She knew he didn't care about the house falling apart on them. "If we clean up then—"

"Does it look like you can clean this place up?" George tried to ask as calmly as possible, as he gestured towards the cupboard doors that were about to fall off because of how much rubbish was stuffed in. "Even if we did, we'd need to put in so much work just to make this place safe to live in. I… I didn't even know carpets could mold!"

"My carpets are not moldy," Percy mumbled. "They're aged with time and memory."

Angelina rolled her eyes. "And how do you propose we're going to pay for another flat, Mr Big Shop Owner?"

"Um…" George fumbled with his pockets, looking uncertain. You'd think being a Quidditch star would mean money, but Angelina was still not getting paid until after six months. They needed a flat now, not in six bloody months.

All of George's money was going to the bookstore right across from them, the one that sold a hundred copies of _Even More Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them_ every day. The business was so broke that he could barely pay his own assistant. Ron hadn't received a check in ages! Diagon Alley was filled with more snooty snobs than the Yule Ball had been. He bet that some of them were still waiting outside his shop, ready to berate him after he'd ruined their sacrilegious annual book event! He bet that Percy would've been one of them if he hadn't croaked. Shame about that!

"Love, we don't have any money," Angelina tried to remind him. "We can't even pay for half-off butterbeer."

"Yes, we can," George said defiantly. He'd rather stay in the Burrow with Ron, Hermione, Rose and Hugo, or with Harry and Ginny and their three kids than have to share a house with Percy. "We're war heroes! We can buy _BUTTERBEER!_"

"George, we can't," Angelina replied. She probably didn't believe he could pay to smell butterbeer. "We're broke."

Before George could go off and ask them if that was what she thought of him, he felt a shiver run down his spine.

"I own butterbeer. Full-priced," he heard Percy say. "Well, I can't exactly say where it is at the current moment but…"

George looked over at Percy, standing there in a corner with his hands firmly grasping a framed photo. He bet to his parents that it was just a floating photo, which was the least interesting thing in this room to begin with. George snorted, like he'd drink Percy's expired full-priced butterbeer. Then it just hit him as he was stood there. He felt the numbness he felt like when he realised that Fred had just passed away, and the empty feeling in his stomach.

"George, um…about the..._err_…panic attack…" Percy looked concerned. "I…I was unaware that this was a problem. Well, I suppose that I know that you're unaware that I'm unaware that this was a problem considering our… detachment but—"

"How could I not have a panic attack?" George replied, sounding tearful. "How could you die? How could you be dead for eight years?" he whispered so lowly that the only person that would've been able to pick it up was Percy, who looked surprised. "Are we really so bad that we didn't know all this time that you were gone. We didn't even know that you were had this…this problem, of-of not being able to leave the house and hoarding all this rubbish. Merlin, you sodding bastard…"

Angelina was giving him _that_ look, and he knew that she knew that there was something wrong here.

Then George followed this up with, "I have to tell mum and dad." Nobody knew this. How could they be?

Percy's eyes widened and he looked like he was about to faint. Well, he looked like that anyway because of being as skinny as a chocolate skeleton, but he looked even woozier. Even though George knew that ghosts couldn't faint. _"NO!" _he shrieked out loudly. "I…I cannot allow you to do so! Are you aware of the-the problems that you will cause if…if you were to be as so thoughtless as to mention this?"

"I'm sorry! Do want to wait another eight years?" George glowered, but it wasn't Percy's fault they didn't know if he was a bloody unsociable agoraphobic obsessive hoarder. He was sure with the amount of rubbish he'd managed to pool into this house, it might actually act as an anti-apparition field. George had trouble apparating from the living room to the kitchen. It was harder to navigate in this house than it had been for Draco Malfoy to help Death Eaters break into Hogwarts!

Percy went quiet. "Not today," he decided curtly, cocking his head to the side. "You've never listened to a single thing I've said I know, but this is a delicate matter."

"Fine, but-but we're cleaning this house," George warned him, and Percy looked seriously unnerved. What would a ghost do with gigantic expired cartons of a milk that he didn't even like? What was he going to do with full-priced butterbeer? "_AND_ I'm-I'm going to buy butterbeer… full-priced _AND_ organic!" he could do what he wanted to, thank you very much! He was a shop owner! An entrepreneur! A war hero! He could buy some butterbeer if he wanted to.

"You can't…I can't…" Percy looked like he was about to explode. "It just needs some minor organising!"

"And Hogwarts just needed some minor reconstruction after the war," George mumbled. He couldn't get over how sickly Percy looked like when George mentioned he was cleaning his house. "Well, you're not alive, so you don't get a say."

"Well...I never had much of a say when I was alive either," Percy replied, and then he disappeared.

George felt his heart hammer in a little faster in his chest. Bastard. Why couldn't he say anything exciting and motivating? Why did he have to guilt him even more? As if he didn't already feel bad enough about living when Fred was dead, _now_ he had to feel awful for thinking about cleaning this overstuffed rubbish bin. But what could Percy do about it? He could yell and scream all he wanted, but George was the only one that was going to hear him. Did he really think that the rest of his family would let them live in a place like this? His mum looked like she had a tick with how badly she wanted to clean this house!

As they left the house, George felt a gnawing feeling in his chest. He just couldn't believe he didn't know.

It had been so long he couldn't remember the last time he saw Percy—besides the day that he visited at Christmas and Ginny flung mashed parsnip at him whilst he and Fred laughed. That couldn't be the last time he saw him, could it? George always knew that Percy was a little troubled, but he didn't think that he would throw himself so far off the deep end that he would consider locking himself in the house for _TWO YEARS_ during the war! And why was he so emaciated to begin with? He'd hoarded so much food the kitchen was about to burst from it, so it obviously wasn't an issue of 'supply'. He also had two heaving bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in ages. How could a ghost look chronically sleep-deprived?

And Percy said he'd left the house once after he'd died. That meant that he could, but he hadn't! For a bloody decade!

The thought of his pompous git of a tidy brother living in a house that the Ministry deemed as unsanitary and unsafe was laughable. The fact that Percy continued to pile things well past the first eviction notice was stomach-churning. How ill did Percy have to be to ignore his beloved Ministry? The people that Percy left his family for? The people that George was under the impression still had a shocking hold on him? This was a bloke that lived and died by everything the Ministry said but was so sick from his hoarding and agoraphobia that he couldn't envision leaving this bloody house even after he died there. George was almost glad that Fred wasn't alive to see that. He didn't know if he would've been able to take it! The slow infestation and mottling of Percy's house somehow didn't put him off living there. Hell, he could've swallowed Scabbers' twin by accident and he still would've probably stayed there!

Angelina just kept staring at him every now and then. She knew. She had to know, and it was keeping him on edge.

They went to a restaurant afterwards to half-celebrate the fact that George had gotten a house, even if it might as well be a pile of cardboard glued together with dragon dung. The restaurant was lively. There was more purple in the room than Angelina had worn at their wedding. George wore a bright orange suit, to go with his shop colours, and had Ron as his best man. But everyone knew that it should've been Fred. Every time he thought about it, George felt depressed.

"I'm so glad to be out of that place," Ron shuddered, looking over at his arms. "I think my arms could've fallen off from having to move all those ruddy boxes!"

"George? Well, I decided that I'm the best big brother ever. You and Angelina can stay with us... I'm sure Fleur and I won't mind if you'd live with us until we find a way to declutter your _house_," Bill said house as if it wasn't what it really was. Shell Cottage was covered in drool of three excited children, but then his face hardened. "But you should know that Fleur's sister is living with us too. And try not to be a complete arse around her. The woman just got divorced. She doesn't need you turning her hair pink for a laugh!" George was deeply insulted. He was more likely to make her hair fall off!

"Is _that_ what you think of me?" George huffed, as he put down his menu. They'd already ordered a tomato fish stew that looked like it should be chucked right back into the ocean and Charlie was scoffing bread like there was no tomorrow.

"No," Bill huffed, grabbing a piece of bread and dipping it in olive oil. Skinny bastard. "I think much worse of you."

"Hey!" George crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that any way to talk to me? I'm a businessman! A shop owner! A purveyor of all things hilarious and vomit-inducing! I'm a professional, William. My shop assistant calls me Mr Weasley and makes me three coffees a day whilst writing monthly reports about our revenue. Oh _and_ I suffered through a tragedy!"

"Uh huh," Ron nodded. "Well, if you're such a responsible shop owner, why haven't you paid me yet?"

"Well, um…obviously, I'm planning to," George straightened his shirt. "Eventually."

Angelina had already had a bowlful of slime soup. George peered into it, disgusted at the existence of calamari.

"Yes, when flobberworms sprout wings," Angelina mumbled. "And when Malkin learns how to sing."

After deciding on a non-offensive spaghetti carbonara, Angelina asked for a seafood risotto. George examined his wife's face and body just to make sure she didn't grow any fins. And you know what she said after? "You're being awfully fishy right now. Is there something you want to tell me?"

George nearly choked on his orange soda when he'd heard that. "Fishy?" he echoed. "No! I…I don't even like fish!"

Well, not all fish, but he supposed fish and chips were alright. Everything else that wasn't breaded and covered in oil looked unnatural almost. How could you eat rubber that tasted like saltwater and proclaim it as a delicacy?

"Uh huh. I'm sure there's nothing going on," Angelina mumbled. "Everything's just peachy."

Charlie was staring at them and looked disgusted. "Oh, get a room." What did he _think_ they were talking about?

George didn't like peaches either. Why did his wife have such questionable taste buds? "Yes, just fine."

Angelina then leaned into his ear and whispered, "Isn't there something you want to tell me?"

George was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Not in particular."

"Are you absolutely sure you have nothing to tell me?" Angelina asked, as she pulled out a frame from her bag.

She shoved it towards his chest. George looked at it, and then felt delirious. The frame was covered in some sort of smudge just like everything else in that house, but then the picture shocked him. It was one of Percy and Penelope in that house. Surprisingly, the house didn't look like a complete nightmare before. The carpet had actual colour! The walls were _WHITE!_

In the photograph, Penelope was holding a heaving cake into her teeny-tiny arms and Percy looked like he was trying to tell her that he'd pick it up himself from how close to an aneurysm he looked like.. Apparently, it was Percy's twenty-first birthday. The cake was a pathetically generic yellow cake. Percy didn't even _like_ yellow cake. This one was obviously homemade and had mounds of vanilla? cream cheese? buttercream? icing slopping off the sides, but Percy was looking at it like it was straight out of a professional kitchen!

"I found it in the house," Angelina whispered. "And there's more of it! Merlin, George, I bet underneath all muck is his Prefect badge!"

What surprised George the most was that Penelope Clearwater was heavily pregnant! Pregnant! There was no way that—

"Percy died in that house, didn't he?" Angelina's whispers felt like screams to his ears... well, ear. _"Didn't he?" _

_"YES!"_ George screamed. His hands started shaking as he put the photo down.

Charlie looked like he wanted to vomit. "Did you really have to do that in here? This is a family restaurant!"

"What?" Angelina looked at him like he was crazy. "We weren't doing anything!" Maybe she should put her hand back on the table before they aroused suspicions. And pardon him, George was shaking in fear and disbelief. He was not mid-orgasm, alright?

George wanted to smash that photo in his hands. He couldn't believe what he just saw.

He hadn't thought about what kind of life Percy had. He just assumed he just lived in that house and nothing happened at all! That was a reasonable assumption, right? George supposed that shagging Penelope Clearwater didn't require him leaving the house per say… but there was just no bloody way. He didn't say anything about knocking his girlfriend up—well, George supposed that he was too busy wondering how his family somehow ended up in his house. If Penelope didn't tell them about Percy's death, it meant that she and Percy weren't together anymore. How could they be? She would've mentioned that her boyfriend was dead. Hell, she would've stormed straight into the Burrow the hour after, shrieking at them for being so 'callous and ignorant.'

Angelina and George were silent for ages, with them waiting for their food. He hated these posh restaurants sometimes. If he was going to be waiting this long, he wanted to be serenaded. He deserved that if he was going to pay for this—not that he was, you know, on account of him being so broke that he couldn't afford butterbeer but…

"Please don't tell anyone," George begged her, his big brown eyes filled with fear. "Look at them."

Angelina did, in fact, bother to look over at his parents who looked like they were having the time of their life, eating rubbery stew. How could you spoil their mood by telling them that they were horrible parents? Not that they were _bad_, but you know, normal parents generally knew whether their children were alive or dead. Merlin, that meant that George was a horrible brother, which well, he knew but he'd like to think that he wasn't that bad.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Oh yes," her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "It's not like it's been eight years."

George tried to ignore his wife's voice of reason and tried to eat his spaghetti. He could barely make it a few mouthfuls before his appetite just died. He pushed his plate away with it being ninety-five percent full. He was a mess. He felt nauseous. He was in disbelief. Oh, and his hair was a little longer than usual because he couldn't bother getting it cut and his self-cutting scissors almost cut his other ear off last month!

Ron seemed to notice that George was in a foul mood. "She didn't want to go for round two?" he smirked.

"Arsehole," George muttered. She barely did that sort of thing in their own marital bed! Why would she do it here? "She's a dignified woman, Ronniekins."

George nodded his head, but he could feel tears fill his eyes and he pushed them away. He was fine. He was fine, and he was going to enjoy his favourite coffee macaroons that he couldn't afford (well, Bill was paying). But when the biscuits hit the table, George felt his stomach turn. Merlin, how could tiny delicate looking macaroons make him feel ill? But he just couldn't pick them up to eat. They had virtually no smell, and were the least offensive dessert ever, but they made him want to upchuck like he was Fleur Delacour in her first trimester. He looked away from his plate, completely dizzy.

"I'm not hungry," he pushed his favourite pudding over at Ron, who got stuck in without another word.

"You're not hungry?" Ron already had chocolate mousse around his mouth. "Afraid you won't fit into your dress robes?"

"No," George mumbled, but he had not eaten much and was starting to feel even dizzy. Besides the few mouthfuls of spaghetti carbonara, he hadn't eaten since last night and was starting to see stars already.

By the time that he'd left the restaurant, George's dizziness got worse. He started walking a little funny but ignored it and continued hobbling across the Diagon Alley. His mum stopped by a stall to look at half-off jewellery. George probably should've said something then, but he remained quiet. About five minutes later, he found himself flat on the ground with a massive headache. Well, he couldn't say that he fainted without warning, could he? George's cheeks coloured in when he realised that his whole family circled around him. He didn't see them but he could _feel_ them around him. Stealing his air again!

His eyes were still closed but he could hear what people said about him and it made him shudder.

"Never been the same since Fred's death…" his mother was telling someone. Their dad? Bill? Charlie? Ron? Ginny? His wife? "…I mean he puts on a brave face, but everyone knows that he's hurting underneath all that. And can you really blame him? Fred was his twin."

"…becoming crazy," Bill's voice was stern. "Buying that house! What was he thinking for Merlin's sake?"

"Leave him alone," he could hear his wife say. "He doesn't need you on his case, alright? He's had it hard enough."

"Doesn't need us on his case?" Ron's voice was so loud that George's head pounded. "No, we'll just watch him get loonier by the bloody year! You're his wife! You should notice that he's getting more unhinged by the year! Do you really want to live in that miserable swamp with walls?" he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was sure it was Ron's.

Suddenly, all George could think about was the story Percy told him about blacking out in the middle of Diagon Alley and how ashamed that he felt like. How he'd just bolted into his house and never left it again afterwards.

When he opened his eyes, Bill helped him sit up and George panted, clutching his chest. He just found out his brother had been dead for years. Cut him some bloody slack, alright? This was a completely normal reaction. He was not crazy.

Arthur helped him up, and then half-hugged him. "Are you alright?" he asked, only for George to numbly nod his head.

In those few seconds, all these memories came back. He remembered six-year-old Percy yelling at them not to disturb their mum at three in the morning because she was tired. They had been up all night, unable to sleep and Percy stayed up with them just to make sure that they didn't set the house on fire. He remembered eight-year-old Percy falling off his first broomstick. Fred and George hadn't let him forget how absolutely lame that was that Percy couldn't stay on a broom for more than three seconds. He remembered the first time Percy broke his glasses (not knowing a thing about repairing charms) and deciding that maybe he should just pack his things and leave the house because he was afraid of being yelled at. He remembered how snooty eleven-year-old Percy was standing there in front of the Hogwarts train, and then how he wavered when he had to hop on. He remembered shoving the Christmas jumper on fifteen-year-old Percy, reminding him that _P was for Perfect_ and the scowl that Percy gave them. He remembered sixteen-year-old Percy flushing as he held Penelope's hand through Hogsmeade, looking around to make sure Fred and George weren't watching (they were). He remembered seventeen-year-old Percy, smug and self-satisfied as he left school with top marks. He remembered him rattling on about his stupid cauldron bottom thickness report...

Well, he didn't have to worry about Percy talking so much about the stupid cauldron thickness report anymore, did he?

Did you know what was so funny? George couldn't even remember the row that he had with his father all that well. He couldn't remember what they'd said to each other that was so bad, but he could remember seeing Percy in Diagon Alley a few months after, having coffee by himself and looking positively lonely. He could remember Percy sending back his Christmas jumper and how fuming his father was. He could remember Percy not being there when his father was in the home. But he could also remember feeling unsafe in Grimmauld Place, and wondering if that git was alright.. He remembered that glimmer of hope that Percy would somehow run straight in and apologise. They would've forgive him. They had to. Percy was their brother for Merlin's sake. George also remembered that the first thing he felt was anger when he had lost Fred. _It should've been Percy_. Now, all he could think about was Percy watching his house rot by himself for the last decade, with no contact with the outside world whatsoever.

Was it worth a missed wedding? A missed funeral? A single fight in the span of nineteen bloody years that he existed in? Did it turn twenty years of experiences into nothing? All for what? Because Percy was having a temper tantrum and threw his mum's jumper back at her and refused to go to any family event until someone told him that he was right? Was that worth tearing out his handle from the family clock? Was it worth not knowing what the stupid git was doing for a whole decade? Was it worth leaving him to live alone by himself during a war and wonder why he didn't come back? Was it worth not knowing that that stupid pompous prat turned into an absolute nutter in the last eight years?

This pathetic git used to wake up at five in the morning to organise all his clothes and papers into neat piles—that same arsehole somehow managed to pile so much stuff in one space that even Ron felt a little claustrophobic. And Percy was actually claustrophobic. He'd always been claustrophobic. How did he live in that house? Did it not scare him to death? (Poor choice of words, George knew.) But can you believe it? This was the same git that washed all his clothes after his mum did had somehow managed to accumulate more dust in his house than Fred probably did in his bloody coffin.

Did Percy even have a coffin? Did they not bury his body over a _FIGHT?_

"George?" Molly smoothed her hand over his hair. Every time he closed his eyes, he could remember exactly how Fred died. How dare he not even know the most minute details of Percy's death? They'd tossed him aside like a bloody doll. And for bloody what?

George felt his head pound as he wrapped his arms around himself. Arthur looked worried. He couldn't help it. When he closed his eyes, all he kept seeing was that picture. Penelope didn't know either. If she knew, then they'd know, wouldn't they? All George knew in that instance was that Percy had to have died alone, with no friends, no contact from the outside world whatsoever. Because if he had someone there, how could his death go unnoticed for so bloody long? As George processed all these thoughts through his numb mind, he just started sobbing because it really hit him that that stupid prat was really gone. He was never going to see him again just randomly pop up in the Ministry, looking smug and self-satisfied. He was never going to wear another Christmas jumper ever again. He was never going to have any real closure with that git. He was never going to see him again. He was never going to make up for a decade of not talking to each other. It was all gone, and nobody even knew about it! Percy had sent a single owl before he'd died, and they set it on _FIRE!_

Angelina held shoulder. "You…you have something to tell them, don't you?" all George could do was stare at his family. Then he silently nodded his head.


	3. Delaying Apparition

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Three: Delaying Apparition

* * *

"You…you need to tell them something, don't you?" those words were echoing in his head.

_Nope, not really,_ George wanted to say but he did just have a panic attack and faint in the same day. He couldn't exactly say that everything was fine and that he was just having an attack of his undiagnosed vertigo now…could he?

The air felt boiling and overbearing where it was cool and crisp before just seconds before. When George sat up, all he could see were a fiery display of fireworks explode in front of his eyes. He shook more than an old guy with Parkinson's shoveling snow outside his house. Angelina gave him that look. You know? That look, that '_If you don't tell them, then you bet your gorgeous rounded arse I will' _look. Well… she probably would not comment on how gorgeous and rounded his arse was, but she should be! If George had been born a woman, he was sure that he'd now be in the arms of _Witch Weekly's Hottest Bachelor_ thank you very much. As she continued to glare at him, he continued to stay as quiet as a dead mouse. So much for Gryffindor bravery.

But how could he be 'brave?' George felt like a Bludger just hit him in the gut and threw him off his broom before he could bat it away.

He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt so cold, even though he was wearing a black t-shirt and an unbuttoned purple-and-white plaid shirt on top in the middle of a scorching heat wave. There were probably wizards dying of hypothermia that asked their nurses to pull down the windows because they were afraid that their toes were about to melt off. Bill's thin red hair was slick with more sweat than a Quidditch player after a six-hour match. Ron had permanently turned into the colour of a Chinese Fireball, and Ginny wore less clothes than a Knockturn Alley prostitute.

But when George closed his eyes, all he could think of was how cold Percy's presence had been. Merlin…

"What… what is that you need to tell us, dear?" his mum's saccharine tones made him want to be sick. "George?"

"We need to go back to the house," George could see Angelina's face softening. "I…I can't tell you here. It's not right."

_He knows that we don't hate him, right?_ he thought. _If we knew that was his last owl, we wouldn't have chucked it in the fire... okay? _

Molly looked over at Arthur, "I suppose that Madam Malkins will let us use her fireplace for a Floo call back to the Burrow—"she'd been cut off when she noticed George frantically shaking his head. He remembered the look of relief on everyone's face the second they left that house. They obviously wanted time to process how foul it really was. In fact, Charlie looked like he'd rather be cleaning dragon dung for the rest of his life than try to tidy up that place just once!

"No, not the Burrow," George said. "My… my new house," he explained in a shaky tone. What a joke. _His new house._

Ron looked at George like he had a stroke. "What? You didn't think we got enough asbestos the first time?"

"Your new house," Charlie echoed. He looked flummoxed, like he hadn't heard that right. And here George was the one that thought he had difficulty hearing. Speaking of hearing... "Why? Do you feel like you might've accidentally dropped your other ear there?"

Ron snorted. "If you're going to pull a prank on us, Georgie, then maybe you should be cleverer about it."

_Cleverer?_ George scrunched up his nose. Was that a real word? Because it didn't sound like it should be.

Ginny seemed to think along the same lines as Ron. "What were you going to do? We walk in and are doused by hundred-year-old debris? A carton of yoghurt culturing a mini Herbology greenhouse exploding in our face? Crushed by a collection of self-help books about how to spring clean your house?"

He would hate to admit that those sounded like great ideas. Why couldn't George think of them before?

"You still act like children," Molly didn't seem impressed by this. "Your brother obviously needs us in the house to…um…" she paused, trying to rationalise this. "Well, dear, what do you need us in the house for? I mean—couldn't you just tell us here? It'll be easier for all of us. And look! There's something here that that house doesn't have! Fresh air! It's a rather…you know, pleasant thing."

"No," George's voice was soft. "It has to be in that house. That house is special."

"It's plenty special alright," Bill mumbled, snorting. "Even tombs in Egypt are better preserved."

George felt a chill down his spine when he felt Arthur's warm hand on him.

"George, this better not be a joke," Arthur warned him, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You nearly gave your mum and I heart attacks when you just blacked out right now! Especially now that you've pointed out that we're…um… old."

"You're not that old," Charlie told Arthur as gently as possible. "I mean you've got to live to at least a hundred, right?"

"It's not a joke! Maybe I have a good reason for this—and I do!" George said seriously. Even though he had been known to lie about…you know, things being serious for a laugh, he obviously meant it this time. In fact, he should've said something about it before he blacked out. It might've saved him a few brain cells. Merlin knew he needed them considering he barely had any O. in Hogwarts. "It's important, alright? It's the most important thing since Fred's death."

Everyone had just gone silent. The humour had melted off Ron's face and Ginny looked paler than…well, Percy.

He felt so exhausted. "I… I'm sorry," George said, even though he didn't know what he was apologising for.

Arthur's hand dropped away from George's hand like he was a couple of fireworks that were going to explode. Well, if those fireworks were Weasley's Wildfire Whizzing-Past-All-Hope-And-Sanity—

"Is anyone going to say something?" George asked, sounding a little irritated. "I said I'm sorr—"

"George, did you do something?" Arthur gave him that look, and George felt his stomach flip. Why did his parents always think that he was on the verge of suicide? Why did they always think he was going to buck under? _"Did you?"_

George shook his head. "No," he whispered. "What did you think I'd done?" he asked, only for Arthur to look away.

Angelina moved closer to George. When she wore those fancy dress robes, did she envision what would happen today?

"Can we just go to the house?" George mentioned again, trying to ignore the fact that he was pissed.

Charlie, Ron, Bill, and Ginny all looked to each other tentatively. His parents looked like they felt sorry for him.

"Um…love, I…" Molly's voice just trailed off. What? She thought that he was losing it. What else was new?

"I just don't get it. Why…why do we need to go to the house?" Ron asked. George couldn't blame him for asking. But he couldn't tell him. "Is there something you want to tell us that requires a flobberworm infestation to help illuminate your point better? Do you feel touched by your poor agoraphobic ghost friend's story about how he obviously got swallowed by his own house?"

"You know the word _illuminate?"_ Ginny gave him a look, and Ron just shrugged. Hermione probably. But George was kind of sure that he'd used it wrong. That sentence didn't sound right. Whatever.

He couldn't believe that they were laughing and so unaware and ignorant—blimey, he was turning into Percy.

"Fine," George huffed. "I'll go there by myself! I don't need you! Any of you! I made a simple mistake of buying a junkyard and now, nobody bloody trusts me—well, good riddance!" He knew that there was no way his family would let him do this alone. Oh, and plus they also thought that he might slit his wrists and bleed out and die in that house all alone.

Angelina just grabbed George's hand and squeezed it in comfort. He didn't feel comforted. He needed a pity shag now.

"I think Percy should be there when you tell them too," Angelina cajoled. He melted. "I barely talked to him; you know. When he was alive I mean."

"I know," George replied, but he felt like it was so wrong. This shouldn't have happened. He felt like he was back in the Battle of Hogwarts. As empty and as shocked and in pain as he did before. He felt like he couldn't be in as much pain as he did right then, but also so numb that he didn't feel like he could feel anything ever again. He felt like that now. He couldn't even hold Percy's body, to really hammer in the fact that he had passed away and that felt like a crime in its own. "I barely talked to him too. You know, when it came to things that mattered…he died, knowing everyone thought he was a git."

"I think charming his prefect badge to read _Pinhead_ probably didn't help," Angelina supplied. But George didn't laugh.

"He lived eight years knowing nobody bothered to bury him," George's voice was unsteady. "It's not normal, Ange. It's not even human."

The smile off his wife's face immediately melted away and George just sulked all by himself. "It's not your fault," she told him.

"Then whose fault is it?" George turned to walk away, Angelina trailing after him. They didn't last more than three minutes of walking alone before Ron was running like he was trying to catch up with a professional Quidditch player doing sprints. Well... George could've gone professional if he wanted, but he was too busy being a joke shop owner extraordinaire! The rest of his family followed suit, because they weren't mental enough to start running in the middle of a busy crowd in Diagon Alley.

Well, it wasn't like George was sprinting at a ghastly pace, so they caught up with him fairly quickly. Even his mum could've caught up with him and she had two bad knees (how did they not know that they were old until Percy pointed it out? Blimey.) George must've blocked it out with, you know, losing his twin and sinking into depression and all.

"Look, fine!" Charlie said the second that he got there, panting and red-faced. "We'll go with you. But it better start making sense real soon."

"Really? You'll come with? I wouldn't want you to suddenly combust in flames upon entering my house," George huffed in annoyance. Seriously. this bloke dealt with dragons. He was afraid of a house? And maybe he start hitting the Quidditch pitch again if he could barely run a few blocks without getting winded. "And it will make sense. I talk in English, not Elvish!"

The rest of his family joined in. Ron gave him a quizzical look, like he was trying to figure out the instructions to a potion.

"Well…do you want to tell us about it?" Bill asked. "I mean—not everything. Just a hint. It _is_ strange, you know."

George paused in the middle of walking, placing his hands in his pockets. "Yes," he said. "Fine. Since you're so curious."

"Yes?" Molly looked at him like she didn't know what else he was going to do. Well, to be fair, he'd already given her the shock of his life when he proclaimed that he was going to be living in a mottling dust bin (that he willingly paid for it!). "I mean—only if you really want to, dear. We're not pressuring you into anything but…we are curious."

"Yes, well…" George cleared his throat, keeping his back turned to his parents. "It's about Percy."

Bill looked like he wanted to collapse in the middle of Diagon Alley, claiming he had a ruptured appendix at thirty-five.

"Percy. You mean your new ghost friend or…or…?" Arthur cocked his head to the side. "Or you know, my—"

"Oh! You mean your son?" George bitterly offered, only for Arthur to flush and nod his head. You'd think that Percy had been You-Know-Who, and the thought infuriated him. He couldn't believe he was like them—just last night! Hot tears burned into his eyes. "Merlin, this is so stupid! Do you even remember why you're so bloody angry at him in the first place? Why couldn't we just have invited him over for Christmas or send him a bloody birthday card or something? Why couldn't we have...have done _anything?" _

"Mum is afraid he'd send it back," Ginny sneered. Merlin, with the way she was talking, you wouldn't think that she spent her days patiently coaxing a one-year-old to sleep whilst juggling a five-year-old that enjoyed annoying his poor baby brother. Was this how they were really like? "What did he do? Did he write to you after a decade of vanishing into thin air to tell you about how he desperately needed your help to remove the stick up his arse? Did the healers tell him being a berk was terminal? Did he finally decide he felt bad for missing Fred's funeral eight years ago?"

George's stomach twisted. "You… you don't understand," he finally said. "It's…it's worse than that," his voice softened.

Merlin, was he really like that? Did he really think of Percy like that? No wonder he bloody left.

"Um, did… did something happen, dear?" Molly tentatively asked. George thought about how his father told them about how their mum always saw Percy as special because of how he nearly died as a baby—more than once. Apparently, he had the cord wrapped around his neck three times, and then he was so premature his lungs didn't develop and needed to be kept in a wizarding incubator and fed a special lung-strengthening potion. Merlin, what happened? "Did Percy owl you about something? Did the hospital send an emergency Floo call that we don't know about? Is he ill? Is this… this what this is all about?"

"No," George mumbled softly, looking down at the ground. "It's not that. I…I'll explain when we get there."

Before George could think about what was going on, Bill had spun him around and just stared at him in disbelief.

"No, you're going to explain now! Why do we have to go into your house to hear you tell us something about our turncoat brother?" Bill asked him for a final time and George tried to push him off. It was funny that George couldn't because he probably had at least two stones of muscle on weedy Billy. "Just say it! Tell us! What is…"

"Merlin, you're so bloody annoying!" George yelled, hands shaking uncontrollably. "Why can't you just wait? You'd know by now if you'd just listen to what I said! Do you think I want to tell you? You badger me on about if I'm fine and if I need anything, and don't believe me when I say I am. I'm fucking livid. The one time I ask you to _walk_ into a house and you're acting like I told you to go on another hunt for horcruxes! Maybe…maybe Percy was right! This family sucks!"

_"STOP BEING SO BLOODY CRYPTIC!"_ Charlie yelled back at him, to which George just scoffed. "Or we won't come at all!"

"Well, if you don't want to come then I won't force you. Don't bother coming. Might as well leave Perce for dead, isn't that right? What do you care if he needs you or he's in trouble or if he's croaked. Why would you care? It doesn't matter that I, the twin of that dead bloke that you seem to mourn so much, forgave him now," George mumbled to himself. "Ungrateful, selfish sodding arseholes."

He felt tears spilling down his cheeks as he walked away. He was weaker than mum's new brand of black tea. Absolutely pathetic.

He walked away from the bristling crowd. Even though Diagon Alley was busier than glumbumbles in a flower field, George felt like it was a little too quiet. His family hadn't said anything for a whole ten minutes, which was a record. But it didn't take long until his family had caught up with him again because he was too busy sulking to really walk.

"Hey, George," Ginny's voice was soft. "You can't blame Bill for asking. We just…are worried about you."

He was sick of people worrying about him, but they wouldn't worry so much about _him_ if they knew, alright?

"I know you say that you're fine but you're not," Arthur supplemented in as tender of a voice as he could. "George, every time I see you, I feel like there's something in you that's just…not there. I know everyone agrees with me. There's something that is so…hollow about you." Maybe he lost a whole twin? Maybe that was what he was looking for?

George did feel like a shell sometimes, like he was waiting for it to be filled with his usual George-ness but it just didn't.

"I… I heard you, you know. When I passed out," George admitted. "I…I'm not mental, alright?"

"We know," Ron replied, but he sounded about as convinced as Bill was when mum told him that he'd look better if he stopped wearing so many overpriced dragonhide jackets. "But you do things that make us feel like you're mental. You can't go on having panic attacks every three days and pretend like you're absolutely fine!"

"I do-do not pretend that everything's fine!" George mumbled. "I complain about everything! Didn't you notice?"

"It's not the same, George," Ginny told him. "We know that there are things you're not telling anyone."

"That's not true! I tell everyone everything!" George huffed, and then he remembered that he was the only one that knew that Percy had become an absolute recluse. Oh, and he still didn't know how he died, but he bet he knew that he died in an infested house, probably alone. "Well, almost everything," he mumbled. "But I'll tell you now. I…I promise."

"Okay," Ginny replied but she didn't sound like she believed him. "Is this really about Percy?"

"Yes, it is," George replied, running his hand down his neck. "You'll see," he finished off. "You'll get it, alright?"

But this was the right thing to do. Percy _should_ see how shattered everyone was going to be if they knew what happened.

Then a flicker of emotion passed by Bill's eyes momentarily, and he looked sick. The bastard figured it out, didn't he? "Excuse me, mum. I have a sudden urge to talk to George about the Quidditch matches. You know, the ones that were...um...the Quidditch matches!" they both knew he was lying but they didn't call him out on it. He grabbed George's hand and sped up with him a little bit just so that they were ahead of everyone. Bill didn't say anything until they were so far away from the rest of the family that George felt like he needed a telescope to see them.

"Percy's the ghost you saw, wasn't he?" Bill already had tears filling his eyes. "The ghost that died eight years back?"

George just couldn't take it anymore. He paused in the middle of the street and burst into tears, nodding his head. He was so bloody pathetic, acting like it was the first time that he heard the news. It still made him want to vomit.

"Did you think that he would've died like this, Bill...? Do you think?" George asked, voice low. "You remember in his first year, when his appendix ruptured, and he was in the hospital after? He was sick all the time. He thought he was going to die, puking up everything he ate and feeling his stomach hurt all day. He had a fit every time someone left him in the room alone and…"

"George, he was just a first year. He was a little kid," Bill told him. "You're going to make yourself sick thinking like that."

"Well, he was just a kid when he died. He was twenty-two, Bill—twenty-two!" the age difference between him and Percy felt so big when they were growing up. Was it really that big? Two years didn't feel like much at all anymore. George didn't even remember seeing Percy as young before now. But now, George could see that Percy was practically a baby when he had his gigantic temper tantrum that divided the family together. He was still young when he was living alone during the war. He was still so very bloody young when he died in that house. _He should know better_, he remembered thinking. Because Ginny was so much younger, and she knew better too. Besides, he was so bloody smart. He should've known, shouldn't he? Gloating about all those bloody O.W.L's. He should've known. "Are you really going to tell me that he was fine with dying in that rotting rubbish bin all alone? That he was okay knowing nobody even bothered finding out what happened to him?"

George didn't feel like a war hero anymore when he saw Percy break down because he was throwing away a rotten milk carton. He felt like they'd lost all along.

_Would the Ministry be there for you when they figure out that there's a war going on?_ George remembered wanting to ask him when he'd laid awake at night in Grimmauld Place. _What about us? What about your family, Perce? Do you really choose them over us? We'd actually care if you die, you stupid bastard._ Now, he felt like the worst arsehole in the world. It didn't seem like his family did him any favours either in the last decade.

"You're right," Bill looked broken. George wished he'd tell him that he was wrong. He wished that he had a good reason for the way they'd been, but there wasn't. "How are you going to tell them?"

"I don't know," George answered honestly, putting his hands into his pockets. He tried to rub the tears out of his eyes, as he glanced back and realised that his mum's pace slowed down because of her knees and his dad was puffing like he was in the middle of a Quidditch tournament. Ron was angrily shouting to Charlie and Ginny about something, who both looked bored.

Bill closed the gap between them and wrapped his hand around George's shoulder. "We have to clean that house. We have to find where his body is underneath all that rubbish," he said bitterly. "We have to bury him."

George just slowly nodded his head. They needed to clean that house. They needed to give him a real funeral. "Do you think he'd mind if we have fireworks?" he asked vacantly. Bill smiled back weakly.

He tried to imagine how it would be like helping Percy with his agoraphobia. If George didn't help him, then he was going to be that sad ghost that never left the house. If he did help Percy, then hsi brother was going to be the ghost that could leave the house for the first time in a decade and not be able to bloody enjoy it because he was dead. _That_ was how bad this situation was.

But he had to do this. It wouldn't be right to tell his family about Percy's death without him there to see their reactions, even though Percy didn't want anyone to know.

He was mental anyway. Did he really know what he wanted? What he needed? Besides, he'd been excluded enough from their life, wasn't he? George couldn't just let Percy live in that house forever, believing that his death was meaningless and that his existence in this planet meant nothing. That not only did he fail to achieve his goal of being Minister for bloody Magic, but he was so much of a nobody that even his family hadn't bothered burying him for the last eight years. George couldn't let that happen. Fred would come back from the death just to slaughter him if he did.

Do you know what was horrifying? Normal people felt scared when their owl didn't come back from sending letters in a week. If Errol died, his mum would organised a funeral within a few days. Percy's life couldn't mean less than a bird.

For some reason, George continued walking and then realised that he was not seriously going to walk from Diagon Alley to Devon now, was he? He was so out of touch with himself that he didnt' realise what he was doing. He didn't suggest apparating to the house until ten minutes after they started walking. He was too lost in his own thoughts and too exhausted from the events of the day. And nobody said anything because nobody wanted to leave him all alone and nobody wanted to make him go off another ten-minute rant about how they shouldn't question his decisions.

"Can you tell everyone else I've stopped being a raging lunatic for now?" he asked. "We should just apparate to the house." And Bill just grinned before turning to face their parents.

After everyone was on the same page, George stopped in the middle of the street and suggested that they'd just meet up there. They looked relieved. Merlin, was he that bad?

Apparating made him feel worse. He rarely apparated without an accident these days, so Bill helped him side-apparate to the house. The sky was still pale, and the woods were even greener than George remembered them. As he took a deep breath, he inhaled the stale air. If he stayed in that house for any longer than a day, George was sure he'd be admitted in St Mungo's for lead poisoning.

"I can't believe that he lived there," was the first thing Bill told George when they got there. He couldn't either.

The house looked even worse than George had remembered it. All these eviction notices looked like red leaves falling out of a tree. The yellowed, dying grass looked like it had last seen water in 1986. There was a flower bed next to a selection of Beater's Bats (why did Percy own a Beater's bat? Much less a selection of them). The flower bed had died so long ago that the sight of the browning 'flowers' (were they flowers?) attracted more creatures than there was in Charlie's extended copy of _Even More Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

"Home sweet home, huh?" Bill told George. This time when they tried to open the door, the handle just fell off.

"Oh, come on!" Charlie looked frustrated, as he huffed. "I still can't believe you paid for this death trap."

It took ten minutes to get into the house because of the wonky handle. George looked around, trying to see if Percy was around but no! The only sound was the standard creepy sounds of the creaking floorboards against his shoes. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could hear the Cornish pixies in between the walls mating.

"Alright, _Georgie_," Ron spat out mockingly. "Why don't you tell us what was so important you had to drag us back here?"

George didn't bother answering his younger brother. He wandered over to one of the million boxes in the house. They were all covered in dust and cobwebs and George just hoped that a giant spider would jump out at Ron for being a gigantic git. As he took a deep breath, George tore the Spello-tape on one of the boxes and then peered into it.

"Um…why I bought you here. Right..." George felt his heart pump a faster when Percy suddenly materialised in front of him, looking betrayed.

Percy bit down his lower lip, looking down at the floor. He was just staring longingly at his parents. He must've noticed Charlie was holding out takeaway bags because Percy's face twisted in some kind of emotion. Merlin, George forgot Percy used to go there with them. George felt his heart hammering in his chest. What was he going to say? What was he thinking about? "You went to that restaurant over by Quality Quidditch Supplies," Percy commented, and George nodded mutely. "The one that somehow manages to sell both Vietnamese spring rolls and fish and chips."

"Uh huh," George kept his eyes on the floor. "Do you still eat there…you know? After—before you—uh…"

"You dragged us here just to talk to a ghost about what kind of food he likes?" Charlie asked, gawking at George. It was horrible that George found this funny, given the fact that Percy looked like he used to exist on fat-free crackers and water.

Percy was amused. "Do you honestly think I'd bother eating at a restaurant that sells _pink curries?"_

"Uh huh. Well, it looks like you don't bother eating much at all," George knew how that sounded like, but you should see him.

Percy just rolled his eyes. What was he rolling his eyes at? Did he see how he looked like? "Well… it's complicated."

Complicated. Eating and digesting food was complicated but stacking fifteen cardboard boxes on top of each other was not!

He kept peering over at his unsuspecting family. Percy must've known why George was there. He must've known.

"I'm sorry, Perce. I... I have to tell them," George whispered, as he stared at the contents of the box. The more he looked at it, the worse he felt. It was Percy's clothes. His things. He was really here. What did he think they were going to do? That they were going to whisper to each other for the next ten years and keep his death like the family secret for the rest of his life? George really would've gone mental if that happened. "You have to understand, don't you? I mean… if it was anyone else, you'd want to know, wouldn't you?"

There was a moment of silence and George had never been so terrified for an answer for anything before in his life.

"George, I've been dead for eight years. I was not a war hero. I was not a good brother, or son. You do not need Trelawney to see I'd died a miserable, lonely death," Percy replied. As if George could forget. "My body has long decomposed. It looks like every other skeleton in the planet. _I_ don't even know where it is anymore! What… what is the point of this? Besides making yourself feel better about being absent? Do you think that I care anymore? It's been eight years!"

He might as well have said that he wanted them to leave him alone to rot. That he didn't care about himself anymore either.

"Hey _GEORGE_, do you care to tell us what this is all about?" Ron was squashed between boxes and infuriated by the looks of things. "You know we have other things to do besides watch you and your ghost have it off in this refuse."

Percy just stared at Ron, and then felt his lips form into a tight line. "This isn't a refuse," he said. "This is my house."

George stared at the box in front of him. He grabbed it in his hands. "Perce, your things…"

"Yes, mine and not yours," Percy reminded him. George tore off the rest of the Spello-tape and cracked open the box. He sneezed. "Of course!"

In this box was a heap of Percy's clothes that George would've recognised it anywhere. He wore the same trousers since his sixth year. Merlin, considering how he looked like now, George had no doubt he would've fit into his third-year clothes too. The smell of _Percy_ hit him in the face quicker than he could process and he felt his eyes burning with tears.

He never thought he'd be so close to anything of Percy's ever. The smell bought so much pain and joy to George.

"Remember this? You spent a week trying to get the stain out of them when Neville was practicing making potions in the common room and you were rattling off about how it wasn't allowed," George asked Percy out loud as he pulled out his trousers. He didn't care how crazy it was going to sound to everyone else. "These? You used to have it off in them when you got owls from _Penny_," he pointed towards a pair of grey trousers that Percy practically lived in when he was busy writing love letters to Penelope. George vividly remembered Percy washing them until the colour faded into white, then he didn't want them anymore. "What about this? You threw it in the fire the second that we got to Hogwarts and then told mum that it was eaten by a vicious plant," he gestured towards his first Gryffindor scarf. His mum practically strangled him with it, asking him to wear it that winter.

"No," Percy looked away from George. He didn't want to remember. "Just... just quit it," he warned weakly.

_"OH, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! GEORGE, CAN YOU STOP TALKING TO THE BLOODY GHOST!_" Ron shrieked.

George dropped the box in his hands and felt his breathing quicken.

Ron then wrapped his arm around George. "I'm sorry," he said. "Georgie, we just don't know what to do with…—"

He paused as he looked down at the contents of the box. He knew in that second that Ron recognised them.

"Ron?" Percy floated in front of him. "Ron?" he waved his hand in front of him. "Can you see me?"

After George shook his head, Percy looked even more troubled. "Um… Ron? Ron, I apologise for the letter that I…"

"That letter? What about it?" George kept his voice as light as ever. Ron lifted his head up because he knew that he was talking about that letter congratulating him on being a prefect. Ron kept looking from wall to wall, as if he was waiting for Percy to suddenly appear. "Ron loved it. Framed it in his dorm. Kept looking back at it for inspiration for his O. ."

"You miserable sodding goat, _THIS_ is what you wanted to tell us?" Ron must've been able to figure it out on his own. It wasn't hard when you knew there was a ghost named Percival, and you already told him that the news was going to be about their brother, Percy. Especially with George's breakdown. Especially when you were looking at your brother's things, the one you hadn't heard about for years and they just happened to be in a wasteland of a bloody house. That was a lot of circumstantial evidence and Ron did train as an Auror. "He _DIED_ in here? But how…? This place looks like…and he's _SO…!"_

George somberly nodded his head. "You understand now, don't you?" he looked at Percy, who didn't. "You do!"

"How could he do this to us?" Ron asked, looking at George with a look of betrayal.

"You mean die?" Percy reiterated with a look of confusion. "Well, I believe I didn't really have a say in that."

Ron was fuming. "Why didn't you say anything!" he jabbed a finger over at George's chest.

"I did," George said, and then realised he hadn't yet. "Well, I was going to! Just now—if-if you would've given me the chance."

Ron blinked a few times, and then shoved George aside like he was rubbish. He rummaged through the box and was panting like it was a vigorous sport. "Stupid organised git," Ron hissed as he threw clothes all over the ground. George felt his heart hammer because Ginny was already piecing things together. "We should just burn the house down. What's the point of all this rubbish? It's not like…not like he needs it anymore, does he? Unless you want to sleep in _his bed,_ Georgie?"

Percy looked like he was about to lose it when Ron suggesting burning the house down. George could not believe that Ron had managed to give a ghost a panic attack.

"Ron, I…I didn't know," George realised that was the wrong choice of words. "I just—"

When George moved to place a hand on Ron's shoulder, Ron just shoved George towards a pile of boxes, crushing them with their combined weights. Not that either of them was that heavy, especially not six-foot-four eleven-stone Ron.

"You bastard! _YOU KNEW!_ You knew the second that you walked in here!" Ron shrieked. "Why didn't you tell us then instead of-of—"

"I'm sorry," George felt like he was being strangled, no Gryffindor scarves needed. "But why are you blaming me? I didn't buy this house knowing about it, alright! I just knew there was a ghost! Can you imagine that this is _his_ house? You saw how it looked like! You saw!"

"I felt bad for you! I had was worried you'd lost the plot!" Ron yelled. "How could you hide this, you selfish arsehole!"

"Ron, let go of your brother _RIGHT NOW!"_ Molly screamed so loudly she probably woke Fred up from his coffin.

"What are you two fighting about now?" Arthur looked completely lost. "You're acting like children... again!"

Ginny was cradling one of Percy's shirts like it was a newborn baby. She knew it too. How couldn't she? The git owned like three things anyway. Everything he wore took George back to a memory as vivid as a Hogwarts portrait. Oh, and plus, he also stitched his name on the insides of all his clothes. That helped too. "Percy."

"Not Gin, George, not her," Percy shook his head. "_NOT HER!"_ What did he want to do? Tell everyone _but_ Ginny?

Percy let out a laboured breath (why was it laboured? He didn't have to breathe). He then shook his head and disappeared.

Ron practically tore off George's hair from how furious he was. Then he just looked stricken, like he'd just realised what this really meant. That Percy was dead and that they'd missed his death. Not by a few days, or weeks, or even months. They'd missed it by years and years and years. They'd missed it so long that it didn't even count anymore. George just let his body go limp. It was such a long day and it felt like it went on forever. Ron let go of George's shirt (and throat. Bastard) and then just stared at the ground. Bill and Charlie were taking clothes off the floor and they were speechless.

"You can't be serious," Ron finally said. "You said that he died eight years back. Eight years! We would've known!"

_How could you?_ George wanted to yell back, but he had no energy. _How could you when you tore his handle off the clock? _All George could see was the betrayed look on Percy's face. Speaking of Percy, the house was now eerily silent, and it disturbed George more than he could put into words.

"How? Were you talking to him? Were you sending him owls?" George asked loudly. "Did you even know that he was living here when he was alive? How could we have known?"

"We... we..." Ron stammered, trying to think of a good answer. He lived in a house in the middle of nowhere. "He was our brother."

"Mum," Bill pulled out Percy's old Christmas jumper from the pile. George felt detached when he looked at it. It was the same one that he and Fred had tugged over Percy's head when he'd been fifteen. Looking at it now, George wanted to laugh. It looked so comically large given how Percy looked like right now. How could a jumper that fit a fifth year look large on a twenty-two-year-old? "Mum, look!"

His silent mum grabbed the jumper and stared at it with a look of shock. Arthur was as white as top-notch parchment paper.

"Mum?" Ron looked at her with worry, placing a hand on her arm. "Mum? Would you say something?"

"Percy died here, didn't he? That's what you two were fighting about, wasn't it?" Molly asked, only for George to nod his head. "And you can see him, can't you? You're...the only one that could see him."

"Lucky me," George replied back with a weak smile.

She looked around the house and George knew how she felt like, trying to somehow figure out how Percy got that sick to begin with. He used to hoard papers but was so persnickety about his space that he folded each paper a million times and then hid it in a box. He was able to compile his whole Hogwarts experience in a big box filled with mini colour-coded boxes. How did _that_ turn into _this?_ "I don't understand," Molly shook his head. "This isn't my son," she gestured towards the junk-ridden room.

Arthur looked back up at George like he wanted an explanation for this. "How did this happen?" he asked loudly.

"George wouldn't know!" Charlie sounded outraged. "I thought he worked at the Ministry. Dad… didn't you notice?"

Arthur shook his head. "We work in different departments," he said. "We never ran into each other. Not even before."

"He hadn't left the house since 1996, dad. I-I doubt that you were going to see him in the Ministry lifts. When I talked to him, he didn't understand how nobody could've known," George said softly. Everyone was listening to everything he said. It was scary but he was the only connection between them and Percy. "I…I had to tell him about the clock."

"Why in Merlin's name would you tell him that?" Bill asked, to which George wanted to reply: _Well, why did mum do it? _

George felt hollow. "That isn't my fault," he whispered. "How else could I explain it to him? How we didn't know about his death?"

"How did this happen? How did he… _die?"_ Arthur asked again, sounding more distressed than angry. "Did he tell you?"

George shook his head, and then cleared his throat. "No," he looked around the room and tried to imagine Percy going so mental that he thought that this was okay. It hurt to think that he was alone.

"Why didn't he tell anyone about this?" Molly asked out in horror. "How could he…?"

George just bit back his tongue to keep himself from replying. _He sent an owl. We set it on fire, mum_. They didn't give him a second thought for eight bloody years, and now, they were ready to throw themselves at his feet now that he died? What was the point? No wonder Percy just wanted to forget about it. What use was it to know now?

Charlie shook his head, looking around the house. "I can't believe that Percy did this," he said, gesturing to the room.

"This isn't like him," Arthur supplemented, and George nodded his head. There wasn't a person in the world that would've envision an ending like this for him.

The room was filled with so much rubbish. Even if Percy explained how it all started, how did it make any sense? He knew that Penelope had to have been here before. Did she see this happen? Did she leave him when he was sick and never told anyone about it? How did Percy die at twenty-bloody-two?

George knew how Fred died and he still couldn't wrap his head around it. Merlin, the whole family had trouble accepting the fact that he was really _gone_ because they saw Fred's copy every day. Angelina didn't understand it when he'd explained but even if Fred died, they still had _something_ of Fred, i.e. George. Even if Fred and George weren't the same, he was still like Fred enough that it didn't feel like they'd lost Fred entirely. George was the only one that didn't have something of Fred, because George was not Fred. George was George and he knew that when nobody else did, so he just had a gigantic empty hole. He was just there to console everyone. He was just 'something of Fred's' for years. He was not George for ages, and even if he was George, he was still Fred. And that thought process was so confusing and inane that it made him feel like he should be locked up when he'd tried to explain it to his wife.

"George, how is he like?" Ginny broke him out of his thoughts. "Does he look the same as the last time we saw him?"

"When you threw parsnips on his face and Fred and George laughed?" Ron reminded her, because that was what he needed reminding of. George shuddered, thinking about Fred and him laughing. Merlin, he had never felt as glad as he was about Fred's death. Because if Fred knew that Percy croaked eight years back and nobody knew, he'd be devastated. He'd blame everyone else, and inside, George would now he'd blame himself the most, but he'd never say it. George just _knew_, not because of a telepathic twin connection—but because you had to know someone you shared a room with for twenty years.

Ginny ignored Ron, because she was smart girl. "George?" she asked softly, batting her giant brown eyes.

"Yeah, he looks the same," George mentioned dryly. "If you just take away about three stones," he scoffed.

The images of Percy inching in closer to him still freaked him out. Up close he looked like he was the one that was haunted by something. His gigantic eyes about to pop out of his sockets, his hollowed-in freckled cheeks, his skeletal hands. It almost made him glad that his mum couldn't see him now. George shuddered, remembering the time that she had practically shoved down a piece of buttered toast down a nine-year-old Percy's throat when he refused to eat because he had food poisoning from eating a troublesome pink chicken curry.

Ron scoffed. "That's not possible," he muttered. It was like Ron losing three stones. Where would you even lose it from?

"Well, you don't know how he looks!" George said seriously. "He looks like…like…you know! Three stones less! Maybe four! I don't know! I don't exactly have pictures."

"Maybe I can help," Angelina walked towards him, holding a box bursting with gaudy-coloured photo albums. He would bet his unlucky stars that Angelina found the picture of Percy and Penelope in this heaving, blasted thing. George grabbed a random album, and then skipped to the last page of the photo albumin and felt his stomach lurch. Merlin, he looked worse in the pictures because he was supposed to be living and breathing oxygen in them! But he didn't look like he was alive. He looked just like a ghost even then.

"Here. Look at it, _that's_ how he looks like," he tore off a picture and handed it over to Ron, his fingers still shaking.

The photo he picked was horrible but he doubted that the others were any better. Someone else took the photo for him, because Percy didn't look like he knew about it.

In the photo, Percy was sat on top of a stack of boxes on the stairs, which was strewn with even more things than it was now. He was reading a book. His hair, which was normally vibrant and red, was anaemic-looking and thin. His teeny-tiny light black trousers were falling off him enough to expose the beginning of those awful broomstick underpants he wore in his fifth year. Even with clothes on, you could see that he was all sharp edges and pointy ends. His yellow-and-white sweater vest didn't look right. He looked dead even then, like he was a statute instead of a real person.

George put down Percy's photo album because it was heavy and bulky. These were not filled with holiday pictures. They were covered in grimes of dust, molding at the tips from contact with the semi-leaking ceiling and torn from being shoved around here and there. Percy's handwriting at the back of the photos didn't console him. He'd taken to writing the date on the back of every photo on that album, along with the exact day and time that the photograph was taken but provided no other information. What was he going to write? _Reading a filthy book on top of a stack of boxes for the millionth time this year because I'm too scared to leave the house? _Percy's handwriting had become as loopy and erratic as he did, with thick black ink blotches spluttering everywhere. He did really go mental in the last couple of years. What had he been thinking when his quill just backfired on him like that?

Molly tore the picture out of Ron's hand, and George just saw her crumbling right before him.

"What… what happened to him?" Molly's voice went down a few octaves, and her hands starting shaking. "Where is he?"

"He's angry at me for telling you that he's six feet under—well, he's not six feet under yet anyway but…" George replied. "You know."

But thinking about nine-year-old febrile Percy shakily eating plain toast hurt triggered a lot of other memories. Each one was more vivid and painful than the rest.

George felt his head pound when he remembered the first year Percy went off to Hogwarts, he sent an owl a day later about how homesick he was. He remembered how his mum forced their dad to come back home from work to talk about it the second that she'd read the owl. She asked if they could just bring him back home. She wondered if maybe Percy wasn't fit for a lifestyle away from home for long months at a time. That maybe he could be homeschooled instead. Growing up, his mum always acted like Percy was so bloody precious. Like the world was so mean to him and he was always right because he was so bloody smart. No wonder he grew up such a smug git. To her, he was her little baby that couldn't even breathe on his own for the first two years of his life. She fed and pumped him up full of calories and arrogance. Percy was the only one that consistently always got new robes. He was the only one that had to have books bought for him. All his childhood, George remembered Fred making fun of how his mum would probably have to take Percy to the hospital if his head got any bigger, but George could remember feeling jealous because his mum wouldn't take them seriously. He thought that Percy was lucky. That no matter what happened, someone was going to be looking after him just in case he snapped in half from the world being so mean to him. George could still remember coming back home for summer and how his mum's face lit up when Percy walked into the house. She would have his favourite supper ready and sit with him all night, listening to him rant about anything and everything. This practice continued on even when Ron befriended Harry. His mum insisted that she didn't play favourites, but that was a bloody lie. Even when he left the house, she'd forgiven him almost instantly. How could she not? He was her ickle baby Percy.

He felt awful for all the times he wished his mum would stop giving a toss over that miserable git. How could the same woman that sat up making Percy's complicated six-tier vanilla bean birthday cake at three in the morning just to surprise him when he woke up be the same woman that didn't know that her child had died eight years ago? What happened?

"Percy?" George called out, but nobody answered him. "_PERCY?"_ he yelled loudly, knowing he could hear him.

Feeling zealous and satisfied, George then grabbed a box of random objects. "Fine! I'll just throw out all this rubbish now!" he walked towards the door—well, he tried to but all this rubbish was in the way. He was muddling through like a dizzy flobberworm trying to worm its way through peanut butter. By got to the door, he really thought Percy wasn't coming. "I'm so glad to be taking this out now! Ron is right. Maybe we should just burn this sodding place down before it causes a doxy epidemic! Maybe we should _Confringo_ the whole bloody forest just in case whatever is in this house has already spread!"

But then Percy materialised in front of him in that instance and shrieked in his ear. _"TAKE THAT BACK… NOW!"_

George smirked a little bit, putting down the box. Molly figured out what was going on because she said, "Percy?"

"Son?" Arthur followed it up with, which was a poor choice of words. "Are you there? We can't…we can't see you."

"Oh, so I'm your son now?" Percy replied acerbically. His facial expression just flattened to the point where he looked liek he had no emotions whatsoever. George opened his mouth to speak but he stayed quiet. Percy cleared his throat and then crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm here. Now, what do you want to tell me that was so bad that you had to disturb me from my...my death?"

George felt like he was put on the spot. "Mum," he said, "Percy is asking if there's something you wanted to say to him."

Molly's eyes were glossy. "Percy, what… what happened? What happened to you?" her voice cracked. "Is this really your house? Do you really live in this…in this disgusting, putrid…" she shook her head. Percy wouldn't like those words when it came to his precious house. "George, what is he saying?"

George waited a few minutes for Percy to talk, but he just kept his jaw clenched. "He's not saying anything," George said.

"Percy," Arthur walked closer to George. "How did you die? What happened?"

Percy kept on glancing back and forth, looking a little ashamed.

"Why won't you answer that question?" George asked, sounding irritated. "Why won't…" he paused when he saw Percy shake his head repeatedly. "Is it complicated?"

"No, it wasn't. It was humiliating. I starved to death," Percy finally answered, and George just looked back at Percy's kitchen, which had enough food to feed the whole Weasley just didn't understand. "You have to understand I have difficulty…throwing away things. I bought a lot of perishable items, because they were cheap. But when they rotted and molded, I couldn't throw them away. I suppose that after a year of not throwing a single item—I had run out of places to put anything that was edible. I had lost my wand in the rummage about six months into my...problem. I had let the sink get full of unwashed plates. Before our fight—or really it was a minor disagreement, Penelope used to bring me things to eat and help rearrange my kitchen enough for me to restock it. But after our falling out, she didn't bother anymore. My best mate, Roger Davies, kept me fed before it became too dangerous to with the war. People were locked in safe houses, as you're aware. Well,, more than I was at least. I had… no one else I suppose, and my house is in the middle of nowhere. I decided that I would just wait until someone came back for me. Well, I suppose that it was a long wait..." Percy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

George tried to imagine how that was like. To be so sick that you'd rather just starve to death than leave the house to get something to eat when you were actively dying. "Roger Davies?" he asked. "The bloke that wrote _Even More Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? _That bloke is your best mate?" Percy nodded his head. "Well, _your mate_ is worth more than Gringott's now."

"It's a bloody great book," Charlie supplemented. "I quit dragon taming to try and find even more fantastic creatures. Perce, it's this book validating all these mythical creatures from _The Quibbler__! _Everyone's been trying to hunt them!"

"Hermione says that they think that someone's going to end up suing him because he's been the only one so far able to find these sodding things," Ron mumbled, only for George to nod his head in approval. How did people not spot another Gilderoy Lockhart a mile away? Roger Davies probably couldn't catch dragon pox if he tried! He'd obviously fabricated the pictures. If he hadn't, then they'd be able to find some of these creatures that he was so sure he'd discovered. "What a noble best mate of yours, isn't he, Perce? Gets stinking rich and never bothers mentioning that his best mate died eight years back."

"Truth be told, I hadn't been aware it had been eight years until you told me," Percy admitted. "I…I didn't know that…" he paused. "I thought that…"

"What is he saying?" Molly asked, tugging at George's sleeve. "Did-did he mention how he died...? _George?"_

George bit down his lower lip. "Mum, he starved to death," he finally said, and it killed him to say that to his mum. Their mum used to buy him that special weight gaining wizarding baby formula to put on weight because he was such a small baby. Molly used to let him eat extra biscuits out of the tin at nine pm because she thought that he was a little thin for his age. She used to force-feed him oats and eggs in the morning even though he hated eating breakfast. How could he tell her mum that her twenty-two-year-old child starved to death in a house in the middle of nowhere? "All that stuff in the kitchen spoiled a long time ago, but he couldn't throw it out because he's a basket case. Sorry, Perce, but you know that you are. It's not normal... well, he had his mates had to get him stuff to eat but then the war happened and…everyone was in their own safe houses. And Perce was just…" he gestured to the overstuffed house.

He hated seeing the look on his father's face.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Arthur asked. "Why did you never send an…" he paused, his eyes widening.

"I did. I sent an owl, begging for help... in very lucid and humiliating details," Percy said very quietly. "And you chucked in the fire."

Arthur didn't need to hear Percy say those words because the realisation dawned on him that same second. All George could think about was that if he hadnt felt so bloody angry and smug and self-satisfied, then Percy could have been alive today. How sick was that? George was sure that their father prided in the fact that he kept seven children fed and happy. He prided in doing all that he could to keep them safe and sheltered. Nobody could've stopped Fred dying, but Percy's death was just so painstakingly avoidable that it just hurt. It hurt so bad and it was just so hard to try and find a way to move forward. Because there wasn't a way. Even if they gave him a funeral now, what did it matter? Did it really solve anything? Percy had been dead for eight years. But doing nothing was equally horrible. So where did that leave them?

But there was something else at the back of George's mind. Penelope Clearwater and Roger Davies knew how sick he was. So why did they never receive an owl from them? Why didn't they say that Percy was slowly dying alone in his house? Did they knowingly leave him here to rot all by himself? What really happened in those two years that Percy had living here?


	4. I Fought with a Ghost

_i really had to toss up about where i want to go with this and i am 90% sure now. it's going to be a really, really dark ride i suppose... i think this fanfiction is going to be slightly shorter than the rest of my works. sorry for the long wait to this chapter, but this fanfiction just won't write itself. the conversations are really difficult to write and i usually write Percy POV-based fiction, but this is heavily George-based.  
_

* * *

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Four: I Fought with a Ghost

* * *

It was three in the morning and George had moved and shrunk enough junk to find a place on the couch to sleep—after his mum had sterilised it and covered it in enough plastic to make Pansy Parkinson look like a real person. Ha.

Sighing deeply, George finally relaxed on the couch, but he felt like crying when he felt how slimy it was. How could a couch remind him of Snape? How could he, the manufacturer of extra-strong dung bombs, be disgusted by anything?

"I don't know how you lived here, Perce," George mumbled to himself. He had so many questions. He knew that Percy heard him talking to him, but he never answered him. George just wished he could find a way to get him to talk to him about how he went from a power-hungry moron to…to _this_. "I don't know anything about you anymore. I don't know if I ever did…But I just can't help but think about it. Where do you go when I'm not here? What did you used to do all day?" his heart ached with every beat; tears burned in his eyes. "Do… do you miss us? Do you think about us?"

_Why?_ He could hear his inner Percy yell back at him. _Did you think about me at all in the last eight years I've been rotting here? _

George bit his lower lip, because he and Fred used to be close to Percy when they were growing up. What happened?

Up until Percy was fifteen, they'd been best mates. Sure, Percy was genuinely born with a stick up his arse, but he used to be okay. _Before_ he had a badge slapped on his chest that said Prefect, he was only moderately intolerable. He didn't used to have his face buried in his book twenty-four-bloody-seven. He didn't always look permanently stressed out when you went to see him. There was a time before talking to him make George want to down a whole vial of Pepper-Up. Times before he used to get headaches after Percy went on and on about Merlin only knew what for hours and hours and hours...

George remembered a time before where Percy used to actually go out in the sun and _not_ combust into ash. He remembered fighting over Quidditch teams with him until four in the morning when he'd accidentally fall asleep at the foot of Fred's bed, even though it made his back hurt. He remembered persuading Percy to sneak off at Diagon Alley for his favourite butterscotch ice-cream on long summer days where they were home alone. He remembered watching Percy stare longingly at the owls in cages, holding them and smelling them. He had his favourites whenever he went to the shops. He remembered the first time they found Scabbers…George could still remember how delicate Percy's hold on him was after he'd saved him from the clutches of rather carnivorous plant (George failed Herbology so he couldn't tell you what it was). He made Scabbers' home from spello-taped matchboxes and popsicle sticks. He had fashioned a tiny pillow and blanket after he learned how to sew. It still sent a chill to his spine thinking that Percy spent so much time taking care of a convict, a murderer. George also remembered the times where he and Fred used to go up to him and ask him about why Bill and Charlie took so long to write back to them, why their mum was so moody today or why they couldn't get jobs too so that they could help buy a bunch of dress robes for their dad's birthday.

It was eerie to think how much Percy knew from a pretty young age. When they were only four, they used to ask him about why they now had a home when they used to move from house to house. Six-year-old Percy used to answer them when their mum wouldn't, and he _knew_ that there had been a war. But Percy always looked so unaffected by everything that he heard or saw. But he remembered laughing at Percy when he kept on wetting the bed up until he was eight. George remembered being five years old and snickering to himself when he saw seven-year-old Percy standing outside the bathroom with a pale look to his face and his mum looking like she was about to lose it as she yelled at him at three am.

Angelina joined him on the couch, her beautiful lacy pink pyjamas looking particularly out of place.

"You don't just become like this overnight," George said, looking over at the table in front of him. It was buried under mountains of boxes, old Quidditch duffel bags, papers and plastic takeaway bags. "Did you know how he used to be like, Ange?" she shook her head. "He used to have a heart attack if his bloody trousers weren't pressed to perfection! He-he…"

Percy then materialised in front of him and acted like he hadn't heard anything George had said.

George thought about the things that he'd just said and felt his heart pound. "Perce, did you hear anything that I…?"

Percy cleared his throat. "Yes, I heard you," and that was it. George might as well have been talking to a tombstone.

He then cleared his throat. George had a question that he _had_ to ask. "Why didn't Penelope Clearwater and Roger Davies ever tell us about you dying?" George couldn't fathom how they left him alone in when they had to know he was ill. "They were your friends, weren't they? What kind of bloody friends don't bury their friend's corpse?"

Percy's face just remained unchanged. "If only you were this curious when it came to your Transfiguration homework."

"Transfiguration homework," George echoed in disbelief. "You want to talk about my bloody _Transfiguration homework."_

George felt sweat dripping from his forehead. Did he just liken a fact regarding circumstances surrounding his death to _Transfiguration homework?_ Percy really did lose it. As George took in his brother, he was a little surprised to see that Percy had changed from his oversized sweater vest and trousers into an oversized pair of old purple pyjamas that George was sure had been torn to shreds in his fourth year. "What do you need pyjamas for? Are you having a nap?"

"Yes, I am," Percy replied. "When they say you're in a state of eternal slumber when you've died, they're wrong."

George knew for a fact that Fred wouldn't be in a state of eternal slumber if he had anything to say about it.

"Knackered, are you?" a tired George asked, yawning. "A whole day of dodging questions must be exhausting."

Percy rolled his soft blue eyes. By the way, having blue eyes and being a ghost made you look like you were primed to scare Hogwarts children. "Well, you don't deserve my answers," he plainly said, which really got to George. Then he closed his eyes and said, "Now, if you and your _wife_," he spat out that word in disbelief, "are seriously considering staying in my house, then I suppose I could suggest a better place to sleep in. Unless you're quite comfortable sharing a couch that is somewhat past its prime." _Somewhat. _Some-bloody-what?

"You have a Petri dish you're not breeding dragon pox in?" George asked, only to receive a glare from Percy.

"No," Percy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I laid out some mattresses for you upstairs. Mind you that this is only because your wife doesn't deserve to be in such a close proximity to you. So, I'd like to offer you Penelope's room to sleep in." He paused. "First door to right." Then after another pause, "I will not answer any questions regarding Penelope."

"Gee, you're so _helpful_," George's voice was laced with sarcasm. "You won't answer my bloody questions? Surprising."

"What is he saying?" Angelina swooped in at just the right moment. "You look like someone's pulled one on you."

"As if that's possible," George mumbled. He was intrigued by the fact that Penelope had her own room in the house. Was this room before and or after the island of mini chocolate button bags? Did he have to cross the canyon of old Quibbler magazines? "He says that we can sleep in Penelope's room because he's sure that this couch is toxic."

"I did not say that," Percy mumbled. "My couch may give you premature disc degeneration, but it is _not_ 'toxic'."

George scoffed. Sleeping on the desks in the History of Magic class was a hard place to sleep in but sleeping on this couch was like being under the Cruciatus curse after ingesting multiple sleeping potions.

"Really?" Angelina looked amused. "The guy that hoards bloodied bandages think that this couch is toxic?"

"Bloodied bandages?" George perked up, and Angelina nodded her head, pointing towards a box that looked filled to the brim with old bandages that had started rotting and breaking down. They were absolutely covered in congealed brown blood that had broken down an eon ago. George shuddered. This house was bloody disgusting. "Perce, why?"

Percy completely acted like George hadn't just asked that. "First door to the right," he instructed again.

"This isn't about Penelope!" George yelled. How was he supposed to grasp his death when he didn't tell him anything?

Angelina was amused. "Trouble in paradise?" _paradise?_ George huffed. They hadn't been in paradise since they got here.

"He's not answering my questions," George was sick of having to deal with Percy. Why did he have to make the events surrounding his death so bloody mysterious? Why couldn't he just give up? Why couldn't he tell him? "Perce, did you really die of starvation? Or is there more to the story that explains why you've got bloodied rags everywhere?"

There was a flicker of emotion in Percy's light eyes. "Why should I tell you?" he asked. "You obviously don't believe me."

George echoed those word in his head. There was a haunted look in his eyes, and George felt sick. There was a gigantic story there that George knew that he was stumbling across, that only he could possibly figure out because he was the only one that could see him. And if Percy wasn't going to tell him, then maybe he had to figure it out alone, alright?

As George weeded through the junk on his way upstairs with Angelina, he sighed. He was surprised by how much rubbish Percy owned. Clothes that had disintegrated into time and space? Check. Cleaning products that needed a wash? Check. Candles that were preserved in ice? Check.

Penelope's room was unlike anything George had expected. Firstly, it was…you know, clean. Secondly, it was well-maintained. Thirdly, did Percy seriously keep watering the flower pot by her bloody window for the last decade? Angelina noticed too because she just grabbed the flowerpot and chucked it out of the window.

"I relieve your brother of the duty of caring for that smelly old flower. I think he has better things on his mind," Angelina's face was flatter than ever. "Like you know, being dead," she said out loud, as if Percy was deaf _and_ dead.

Percy paled, and then momentarily calmed down. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

_Why should I tell you?_ George felt unnerved the more he thought about it. _You obviously don't believe me._

George picked up a frame on her bedside, and felt his palms go sweaty. It was an old photo of her and Percy, and George remembered the day that it had been taken as if it was just yesterday. Molly met Penelope for the first time, and Fred and George had been following them outside on their walk to take pictures of him doing anything seventh-year-rated just so they could blackmail him for the rest of the year. George still remembered snickering when they were just about to have it off in the middle of the forest, but then Penelope's knickers got caught into a tree branch and Percy accidentally knocked over a glumbumble nest. Well, they did call it _blue_ balls, didn't they? George thought with a shudder.

"Penelope left me too…a year before my death," Percy broke him out of his thoughts. George felt a shiver run down his spine. "Her. Roger. Everyone." When George looked up, he saw Percy's cornflower blue eyes fill with tears. "You want to know so much about me, about the circumstances surrounding my death so much…"

George wanted to tell him that his friends didn't hate him, but they did just leave him alone in this house to die.

"They were sick of me, and I was—_am_ mental, aren't I?" Percy's voice softened. "Don't you understand? My things can never leave me. They're reliable. They are the only thing that has been reliable. Don't you understand?"

"Perce, they're just _things_," George tried to tell him, but Percy wasn't listening. "They don't mean anything."

"You don't understand. How could you?" Percy viciously replied. George nodded his head, and there was a part of him that decided that he was going to try and make this better somehow. As if anything could magically rectify this situation. "This is the only thing I have left… and-and _you_ want to take them away," he sounded terrified more than he did sound furious.

George felt his heart hurt. "Perce, you've got me," he said, looking at him but Percy just didn't trust him. "I'm left."

Percy scoffed. "Yes," he said in distaste. "And how lucky am I." How could George not be offended by that?

"I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you," George spat back. "I really am."

George placed his hands on his lap, wishing for the millionth time that day they could be having this conversation on different circumstances. Circumstances that didn't involve an overgrown swamp and a dead brother.

"Perce, these things that you have… they're not going to fill your void," George told him. He felt as sleepy as ever. Percy had laid out mattresses for him and he immediately collapsed on them. Blimey, they were softer than the beds they'd had in their flat. "They don't mean anything. And deep down, you know that. The logical, not crazy part of you _knows_."

He saw a flicker of recognition in Percy's brilliant blue eyes. He knew, but he was bloody sick, so he couldn't let it go anyway.

"Don't you see how crazy this is?" George continued; his voice as soft as ever. "You should've been locked up alive, I—"

"Yes, obviously, I know! I know I should've been locked up alive! I know that obviously all these things that are so precious to me are _rubbish_. I know that-that I'm difficult and that is why so many people left me! I deserved it! I know!" Percy said hotly, his eyes vacant. "But don't you think that knowing and being unable to change constitutes as part of my…my illness?" his voice was dripping with contempt. "Do you think I enjoy this?"

Then Percy flushed. "Do you know how it feels like? I had a lot of time to think about this, George. I had years." He sounded demented now. "Do you know those diabetic men in St Mungo's that have to have their foot amputated off? You know those blokes that sit there with their swollen disgusting foot that gives them so much pain? But they couldn't bear the thought of parting with it that they'd rather run the risk of death. It's putrid, and black and smells like a baby troll just vomited but it's their _foot_. So, they would rather die with their gangrenous limb than live with a healthy stump."

"I lost half of me, Perce and I survived," George rubbed the hole where his ear was at. "Oh, and Fred too."

George knew that Percy knew. He knew but it didn't matter to him. He clung onto the false hope like his mum clung onto his old Christmas jumpers the same day that he left. And why shouldn't he? For the past decade, all Percy had was this rubbish filling that endless void inside of him. Losing this was probably unfathomable at this point, even more unfathomable than the fact that he was dead.

"It's too bad that you're a ghost, Perce," George said. "Because you can't stop me from cleaning your house, can you?"

Percy's eyes bulged…more than usual that was. His lip twitched. You'd think George was torturing him, wouldn't you?

"Ron is right by the way," George replied stoically. "It needs to be burned."

Percy was shaking. "You can't burn my home." This wasn't his home. The Burrow was his home. This was a nightmare.

"You're not a poltergeist, Perce, so stop acting like one!" he yelled. "You could—you could move around, smack prefects with copies of _Prefects Who Gained Power_…" George smiled. "You could have a life—well, a ghost life that is fulfilling."

"A fulfilling ghost life," Percy looked like he was in complete disbelief. "Yes, because I was so lively when I had been breathing."

"I'm sorry, Perce," George told him. "But I can't bring you back from the dead." To which Percy just raised his eyebrow, and then he sighed. "I can't bring you back from the dead without using dark magic," he corrected to which Percy nodded, looking smug and satisfied. Prick.

Percy looked depressed. He was scared about what was going to happen to his 'lovely home'. "Do you even know me?"

"I do! And this isn't _you_, Perce!" George waved his hands around like a maniac. "This is your mental…ness talking!"

But George knew he had the steel metal ball in his court now, and it didn't look like it was moving anytime now. Percy looked haunted, as if this was the most appalling thing that George could do to him. Um, weren't ghosts supposed to guide you? Because Percy couldn't even guide them to where his skeleton was at, much less give him life-changing advice.

"I will never forgive you if you remove my things," Percy said plainly. "Do you understand?"

"Why?" George's stomach sloshed like he'd just shoved in that mold-covered dark chocolate tart in Percy's pantry. He didn't care if Percy never forgave him. He was not letting him rot in here forever in this house that had obviously killed him, alright? He didn't care how many temper tantrums Percy threw. He was not going to continue haunting an oversized dustbin if George had anything to say about it. "Because I vacuumed your living room or used siphoning charms on that unidentifiable stain in your curtains? Or because we didn't know you were dead for eight years?"

The fact that Percy had to think about that showed just how sick he really was. It was sad.

"I despise myself for letting the fight get to where it is, you know," George explained. "But we can fix this."

"You're _delusional_," said the most delusional ghost ever. "You want to give me a life. As a ghost that only you can see."

"Well, that ghost is my brother. I owe it to him after being a git for a few years," George's smile was watery and weak, his dark brown eyes were shiny and glossy. He turned to see his wife, who was just watching him with a focused expression. "Merlin, Ange, I'm sorry. I forgot that you were there," only for Angelina to roll her eyes at him.

"You forgot that your wife, who is _two_ inches taller than you, is here," why did she have to mention that she was taller? "Can I talk to him?" George just nodded his head.

Angelina tried to look at where George was looking, probably trying to imagine sick-dead-mental Percy standing there. "Hey, Percy," she said, but she very much sounded like she was talking to George's imaginary friend rather than his dead brother. He didn't even want to know how this looked like to outside eyes. Talking to air. "Why don't we make a deal?"

"Yes?" Percy looked at Angelina with interest.

"Go ahead, Ange," George urged his wife to continue."He's listening."

Angelina placed her hands on her knees. "I'm sure that, you know, being dead is not a very pleasant experience. I'm sure there are things that you'd want to do if you're alive, isn't there?" George scoffed. What would Percy want to do besides hoard more rubbish? But he felt his body go numb when he saw Percy tentatively nod his head. "Well, what if we do them for you? Every little thing you have in your mind… in exchange that you'd promise to talk to us and let us help you work through your issues."

"For a fulfilling ghost life," Percy repeated, still confounded. "Where I can haunt whoever I desire."

"It would still be better than being stuck in here for the next all eternity! Really? What have you got to lose, Perce?" George reminded him, only for Percy to flinch. "You're already dead. How much worse can it get?"

Percy looked at Angelina like he was really contemplating this offer.

"Well, I _am_ sick of being sick," Percy admitted. He'd probably lost all hope, on accounts of, you know, being an apparition."I suppose I really don't have too much to lose." How about nothing at all?

George felt triumphant, and with that, exhaustion weighed him down. He was so tired he didn't think he could even Spello-tape his eyelids open. George collapsed on the mattress and was snoozing in the next few minutes, not sure how he'd gotten there when he'd just been having a conversation with Percy. He could feel Angelina grab his arm and then squeeze it, asking him if he'd bothered eating after he'd passed out. Oh, _that_ was what he was forgetting. George just pushed it off, saying that if she was so concerned about it, she should connect him to an IV line and pump him with Honeyduke's finest cocoa-sugar-milk-powder hot chocolate mix. Seriously. He could go half a day without eating without completely fading away into nothingness. It wasn't like he was seven stones now, was he?

As George snored through the night, he tried to digest the last twenty-four-hours, one of the most harrowing twenty-four-hours of his life. Including the time when his twin had died.

He slept like a baby that had been secretly fed a powerful sleeping draught. That was how exhausted he was.

When he woke up, it was already three in the afternoon. Percy was probably thinking that he was the one that had the sleep of the dead by the looks of things. The only reason that George woke up was because he heard someone ringing the doorbell. Blimey. George apparated to the front of the door, trying to wedge it open without fracturing his collarbone. When he'd managed to open the door, he felt his heart race. His mum was standing there, decked in a pair of oversized white floral robes that were patterned with pink roses. In her hands, she was holding a box that was filled with shrunken down cleaning supplies. "Can I come in?" Molly's voice was low. "Is Percy around?"

"Mum, he's an agoraphobic ghost," George reminded her with a raised eyebrow. "He's always around." Merlin knew where he disappeared off to.

"Yes, of course, of course, of course," Molly nodded her head energetically. "Yes, well, the reason I wanted to ask you is because I was thinking that maybe…you can obviously hear him, and I just have a few questions to ask him. You could be our…our little translator, couldn't you?" his mum's eyes were big and wide, almost begging for George to say yes.

George cleared his throat. "Mum, he doesn't answer questions," he dodged every single one that George asked him.

"Oh," Molly looked worse than a happy crup that had just been kicked by its best friend. "But we can try, can't we? I…I don't want to ask him anything…anything that might upset him," George wondered that would be since everything under the sun upset Percy. Did his mum want talk about that cauldron bottom report he finished fifteen years back by any chance?

"Good luck with that," George heard Percy's voice from behind him. Arsehole.

George turned around and was a little surprised to find fifteen-year-old Percy staring back at him. He knew he was fifteen because Percy was wearing a black-and-gold fez with his prefect badge pinned to it. He went through a fez-wearing phase from his fifth to seventh year and each year, he changed the colour. In his last year, he proudly wore maroon fezzes with gold linings. He was also wearing his old Hogwarts' uniform.

"You can change your _age?"_ George's eyes bulged wide, as Percy just rolled his eyes. He didn't know how to feel about this. "Blimey. So, Nearly Headless Nick was keeping himself headless for the laughs? Well, nearly headless."

"Nearly Headless Nick is a House Ghost. I am not actually affiliated to anything or have a strong binding spiritual contact to any location—as you so keenly remind me. I suppose you would have found out by now that we are not all the same. I was under the impression that nobody could see me until… well, you're aware of how the rest of this story goes on now, doesn't it?" Percy reminded him, huffing. "Besides, I thought that this would be a much more…acceptable form. Yesterday, you kept on staring at me like I was a monster."

George winced at the use of Percy's words. He _did_ keep staring at him yesterday. "You're not a monster," he whispered so low so his mum couldn't hear and start having a scene. "Mum wants to talk to you."

"I'm aware of both those things," Percy's face was unchanged as he stared at his mother.

There was a moment of silence between them. Molly inched in a little closer, sitting on the 'somewhat' ripe couch that they'd fixed up last night. Percy was sat on a box—or well, he was hovering over a box with his hands on his lap.

George sat down beside his mum. "Um…mum…?" he felt a little apprehensive.

Molly nodded her head. What could she talk about? The fight that happened? Where Percy had been living before he moved into the death house? When he'd started becoming more mental? How were his final moments in this world? George couldn't think of a single topic that Percy would want to talk about. Even asking him about what he liked to eat was a bloody sore spot.

"Were you working? During the…" Molly trailed off. "Well, when you were living here."

Percy looked visibly surprised. George looked suitably impressed by his mum. Yes, get the bloody bastard to talk about his work. George didn't even think that Percy was working in his home, even though…well, he had to pay for all this rubbish somehow!

"You were suspended from the Ministry," Molly mentioned. Really? George didn't know that. "Your father found that out yesterday... but-but you worked after, didn't you?"

Percy nodded his head. "Yes, I was suspended from the Ministry," there was a fleeting moment of guilt, as if he wished he could say that he left the Ministry of his own accord instead of being thrown out of it. "I wrote articles for scholarly journals. I was also working on some other…matters, but I didn't believe that it was meant to pan out."

There was a story there too. George knew it. Just like there was a bloody story about everything that Percy said. Merlin, he was about to drive him mental with these statements. "He wrote articles for some boring journal," George translated.

_"Challenges in Charming,"_ Percy looked annoyed at George's translation. "It is not a boring journal. It is a progressive piece of literature." George rolled his eyes. How did he not end up in Ravenclaw?

"It's even more mind-numbingly boring than I thought," George snickered. "He wrote for a charms journal, mum."

"A charms journal," Molly nodded her head, as if she'd been reading those all her life. "Oh, did you write that article about all those charms that help you get that last bit of stain from your old robes? Because that was a brilliant read!"

"Mum, _Witch Weekly_ is not a charm journal," George answered before Percy exploded.

"Well, I frequently wrote _to_ it too," Percy's voice was lower than ever. He obviously didn't care about his mum mistaking his scholarly journals for Witch Weekly's _hotter-than-dragon-burns_ column. "I…I believed that there was a spell I could create that would be able to cure my…my problems," he paused, but then shook his head. "I tried everything."

George felt a lump rise in his throat. What was he supposed to say to that? _Well done but pity it didn't work out?_

"What did he say?" Molly asked, only for George to look up to his mum with an apprehensive look. "Does he have an article for me to read? Is that what it is?" she smiled weakly. "Is he talking your other ear off, dear?"

"Yeah, mum," George replied quietly, looking back at a quiet Percy who just nodded his head.

There was a moment of silence between them, and all George could hear was the deafening silence echoing in his ear.

"I…I've seen Fred," Percy finally said, and George looked up, laser focused. He'd never even considered the thought that Percy knew what happened to Fred. "I told you I left the house once. I just…had to see him. Well, that meeting didn't last very long in view of my…" he paused, looking at the floor, which was covered in old, mucky takeaway menus. "Truth be told, I probably shouldn't have. It didn't sit well with him. He was in rather a lot of disbelief regarding my circumstances. But he seemed to be doing well up until then. I did catch him in the girls' dormitories after all."

George couldn't even muster up a smile at the thought of Fred haunting the girls' dormitories. He was fuming. He was angry at Fred. Angry at Percy. He hated everyone. "Did he ask about me?"

"Yes," Percy nodded his head. "During all of the three flat minutes I was there, he asked me about you the most. I didn't need an owl from you to know that you weren't coping, especially since I've been to the funeral too just moments before and I…" he paused. George winced, remembering clinging onto Fred's tombstone and shrieking for someone to take him too. Maybe that was why people thought that he was about to breakdown any day. "Well, what was _I_ supposed to say?"

He then turned to his mum, who was staring at him completely confused. "Percy saw Fred," he explained, and Molly's eyes widened, as if it was an impossible thing for them to meet. It wasn't like they were both dead, was it? "He says he's happy," George didn't have to outright ask him, but from the sounds of things, Fred was…his normal self.

The first part of him was relieved, but the second part of George was bitter. How come Fred got to be so bloody happy when George was unable to get by a day without everyone thinking that he was breaking down?

"That's good, isn't it?" his mum's voice was so soft, and she was smiling at him.

George just stared at the ground. Yes, how bloody great. Fred was going on like he didn't just leave him alone. Like George hadn't torn himself into pieces for him. Like everything was alright.

"Sweetheart?" Molly's voice softened. "It _is_ good, isn't it? That Fred is alright?"

George just couldn't help but snap. "I don't know, alright? I don't know if it's good, mum."

It was going to be a lose-lose situation either way. If Fred was miserable, then George would be miserable. If Fred was happy, then George was going to be miserable. He was never going to win no matter what Percy had bloody well told him. He closed his eyes. There was nothing that he could know about Fred that would give him closure. The bastard went up and left him all alone. Nothing was going to change that. It was like someone had stabbed him with a knife every time he'd heard his bloody name. It had been eight years! When was this pain ever going to go away?

Percy cleared his throat and looked away. He looked like a floating Halloween decoration instead of a person. "George, I didn't mean to discuss such a difficult topic," he said. He didn't mean to? So why in Merlin's name did he bloody do it if he didn't mean to? So, now that he was dead, he thought that he could do whatever he wanted, did he? That his actions had no consequences?

"Does it bother you, Perce?" George suddenly asked. He knew what he was doing the second that he did, and he didn't care. His voice was so dark and bitter that Percy even backed away a little. "That we care _so much_ about Fred? And we tossed you aside like a rag doll?"

He could see the muscles in Percy's face twitching, and he looked like he really wanted to lose it.

"George," Molly looked horrified, like she couldn't believe that he said that. Why shouldn't she? Did she think that everything was so lovely and nice and warm? "Percy? Percival...? We care about you, love. You have to know that, deep down underneath all of that… you have to know that it was just a really difficult…difficult position and…"

"Difficult position," Percy echoed, his eyes darkening. But he kept his lip pursed as tightly as possible.

"You were in a difficult position too, weren't you, Perce? You starved to death in a house?" George laughably mocked. All he could see was red, and none of it was good. He knew that he didn't mean to say the things that he did, even as he was saying them, but it was like he couldn't stop himself. It was like he wanted to see how far he could go, how bad this conversation could get. He was in so much pain. Why was he the only one in so much pain? "Really, there was nothing you could do? You were so mental that you couldn't even open a takeaway menu to get delivery? I mean look at this!" he gestured to the pool of takeaway menus around them. "And even if you were broke, you couldn't have called anyone to help you out? I don't believe that."

George paused for a few moments. "Did you want to die?" he asked. "You wanted to die, didn't you? I mean, what else did you have to live for? Another ten years of hoarding?"

"Well, just because you think my life is not worth anything, George, didn't mean that I did!" Percy shot back. He looked furious. "I truly do wish I was alive. I just wish I wasn't stuck here, in this house, with _you_." He paused. "Why can't you just leave me alone like you have for the last decade? It isn't enough for you to make my life miserable?"

"I don't believe anything you say," George finally admitted, voice scratchy. "You're been lying about everything so far! Do you think you're believable when you've been sprouting out all this rubbish? And do you really expect me to believe that you don't know where you died?"

Percy scoffed, as if he found George unbelievable. "Yes, I do know where my body is! Why wouldn't I? Upstairs, third door to the left, you putrid little..." his hands were shaking. "You want to know where my body is so badly! Then go ahead! You can have it!" George knew that he knew where his body had been all this time. There was just no way that he didn't know. He could pass through walls for Merlin's sake. "I'm sick of trying to protect you. You don't deserve it. And if you think you'll be seeing me again, you're sadly mistaken."

"Protect me from what? Discovering how sad your death is? According to you, you died starving to death in a house full of food. And there was nothing you could do about it," George knew that he was really pushing it. Percy's cheeks to flush in. He couldn't believe how he looked like. How did he look so red? He didn't even have any blood in him! "Yeah, right."

"Go to hell," Percy replied as quickly as possible, before disappearing right before his eyes.

For a moment, George felt like he'd just been in a dream. Did that really happen? He turned to look his mum, who looked so disappointed at him. But look, there was no way that she'd yell at him, was there? It wasn't like his mum could raise her voice at the child that had lost his twin brother. But right now? She looked like she was really holding herself back from saying what was on her mind.

"You didn't need to do that," said Molly quietly. "It isn't his fault…what happened to him. And now, you've gone and upset him. You really have to apologise to him, alright? You have to tell him that you didn't mean it and-and…"

George shook his head quietly. "He said that he doesn't want to see me anymore," he doubted that that would be possible, knowing that Percy couldn't leave this house and that George was living in this death trap. "Whatever, mum. Who cares? He's been lying to me since I've seen him." His eyes were flashing with anger and a little hurt. "He doesn't trust us. He never will, so why are we wasting so much time with him? He's never going to tell us anything, no matter what. We've never going to know."

Then he remembered what he'd said about his body. "Let's just bury him and leave him alone in this house," George replied, much to Molly's horror. She looked almost disgusted with what he was saying. "It's what he wants."

"What he wants," Molly echoed, looking at him like she didn't believe a word that he said.

"He told us where his body is," George had a feeling that if he'd never confronted Percy so harshly about the obvious holes in his story, he would've never gotten that reply. "We can bury him. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Molly's face was unchanging. "He wants to be buried and forgotten about?" she confronted him. "_That_'s what he wants?"

"Well, if he doesn't want to stop having a bloody temper tantrum…" George just crossed his arms over his chest. Well, it wasn't like Percy was being so forthcoming with him, was it? He wasn't exactly giving him anything besides grief, and he was sick of him already. It hadn't even been forty-eight hours and they couldn't be around each other without having a massive fight of epic proportions. He'd almost forgotten why they hadn't talked to Percy for so long anyway. "Why should I indulge him, mum? He has no bloody right to talk about Fred. He…"

"You're trying to tell me that he has no bloody right to talk about his own brother?" Molly looked at him with a hardened expression. She was confronting him about the holes in his story. She stood up from where she was sitting at, her beautiful robes looked like it was covered in grime. "Why don't you grow up? I'm sick of having to deal with you breaking down all the time."

George was sure that he didn't hear that right. His eyes widened. "What?" his mum had never talked back to him like this in years. She couldn't bear to, not after all that he'd lost. "Mum," she turned to him.

"You have no right to do what you just did," Molly finally said, her eyes vacant. "You compared him to a rag doll. What did you expect him to do? Indulge you? Praise you?" George's face remained stoic. "He died in this house eight years ago and you want him to be ecstatic that you want to do something for him _now?_ What's that supposed to do for him?"

George flinched a little, because hearing her say it like that made him sound so callous and cruel, but she didn't understand. She didn't see him sat there, looking so smug and detached, completely emotionless. George wondered if he even cared that he died at all sometimes. He didn't act like someone that missed being alive. He didn't believe him. How could he?

"Mum, I didn't mean it like that," George tried to soften the blow. "You know that I didn't mean it like that—"

"I'm sick of saying things like that that you 'don't mean like that'! You have to understand that your actions have consequences," Molly was inching closer to him, and his heart was hammering his throat because he'd never seen his mum so angry before in his life. She wasn't yelling at him, but it was obvious that she was really restraining herself. "I hope you can explain yourself when your poor father comes here. Do you think I'm the only person that wanted to come here to talk to him? Do you have any idea how he feels like after the fight that they'd had?"

"Mum, that fight was…was…" George couldn't even do the maths in his head. But when he did, he was a little ill. "What? Eleven? Twelve years back?" he couldn't believe that his father was beating himself up over that! It was forever ago! Practically ancient history. He bet that Binns could even be talking about it in his class.

Molly's facial expression was indifferent and cruel. She was eerily reminding him of Percy. "Try telling him that."

When she moved past him, she tried to open the door, but it was a little jammed in. George moved over towards the door, trying to get through it with all those wet, rotting candy wrappers and the carpet mold.

"Mum," George moved towards the door to try and help her, but she shot him a look. "Let me just...this door is so bloody difficult..."

"This door isn't bloody difficult. _You're_ being difficult," Molly's coldness left George shaking. He hadn't heard his mum angry at him in so long that he'd forgotten how it was like. And now, he didn't have Fred to talk to, to explain this to, and even if he did, there was no way on Earth that Fred would get it why George did what he did. That was a foreign feeling, to know that Fred would be angry at him for what he'd just done. But what did it matter? Fred wasn't here. Not anymore. Not ever. "George, do you know even care about what everyone else is going through?"

"What?" George was pulled away from his thoughts, looking at his mum, who was stood there with ruddy cheeks and a serious look on her face.

Molly sighed, and then started talking again. "We were going to take turns, you know. Ginny wrote him a letter. Bill took a whole week off work because he was going to help clean this up." George felt himself panicking. "We were going to come one by one to talk to him and you…you ruined it. And you don't seem to care at all because all you care about is yourself."

When she slammed the door in his face, George felt more than just empty. He felt truly, truly vacant.

He dropped down to the couch (after making his way through the congealed mess of the raw and the rotten). George sighed deeply, placing his hands on his lap. "Perce?" he called out very loudly, knowing that that bastard could hear him. "Did you hear that? Ginny wrote you a bloody letter. Can you please just…" this was not going to work out. He knew that. It was way too soon for Percy to come down and see him because that bastard was still angry at the conversation they were having. "Where do you go when you disappear off to? It isn't like this house is that big."

He felt a little agitated, but then he heard someone knocking on the door. He could hear his father's voice from behind the door and George couldn't bear to tell him what happened. "Perce, come on, this…this isn't funny! Dad wants to talk to you!" What was he going to say? _I know you're angry at me, but dad's been blaming himself for years now over what happened?_

George stood up from the couch, breathing through his nose. "Mum's wrong," he said. "You're the selfish one. You won't even come down and see dad after all that happened! Because you're angry at me. Well, whatever. I don't need you."

When ten minutes had passed, George realised that Percy really wasn't coming. So, he went to open the door. Arthur was stood there, looking tentative. Well, they didn't have to know that Percy wasn't there, did they? George thought about this really carefully. They couldn't see him. How would they know? George could just fake it. It wasn't going to be that hard... was it?


	5. More Questions Than Answers

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Five: More Questions Than Answers

* * *

George thought that it was bad when Arthur came around, but it was terrible when Ginny joined them a minute after.

It was like they'd planned to make this as hard as they possibly could. It didn't help that Ginny looked ten years younger, and it wasn't only because the jumper that she was wearing was swallowing her whole. She had on this look of complete despair, like she'd just learned that Father Christmas was really Arthur Weasley in gigantic second-hand red robes!

"Um…sit down…" George gestured towards the living room. He was sure the rubbish multiplied in the last few minutes. He'd rather be shoveling dragon dung for the rest of his life than have to talk to his father and his baby (and okay, only) sister. "Somewhere."

"Okay," Ginny managed to find a tiny spot to sit in. She smoothed over the old sunny-coloured jumper. "Thanks."

Blimey, George wanted to strangle her for managing to don on the saddest, most tattered-looking jumper to wear today. He'd seen better fashion on house-elves! The only way that Gin could look even worse was if she sported Percy's vacant looks and hollow, sunken cheeks. Fortunately for George, Ginny's cheeks were fluffed up after having that third baby.

And if you though Ginny was bad, you didn't even want to look at Arthur. His father was fidgeting so much you'd think that he was about to give a speech to the Minister for Magic. His hands had been shaking consistently for the last hour!

"You'd managed to clean up a little bit," Arthur added on. "That's great." He was fiddling with his old Weasley watch like a toddler that couldn't sit still... George almost wanted to smack him. This was a grown man! He was a _grandfather!_ He had no right to look like a poor old man that had been left abandoned out in Diagon Alley in the cold winter night.

Considering George couldn't offer them tea without accidentally setting the place on fire (that obsessed, dead lunatic really wouldn't talk to him then), he didn't offer any refreshments. He couldn't even tell them where they could sit without risking asbestos exposure. Merlin, he couldn't promise that a doxie wouldn't accidentally scoff their feet for lunch. Blimey, George was such an awful host. His mum's words were still ringing in his ears. She could hear him tell him off for being a selfish arsehole over and over again, and it felt like a stab to his aching, heavy heart. Now, all that George could think about was Bill, Charlie and Ron waiting in the Burrow. Were they really going to apparate one by one to talk to him? When had he graduated from that twin that survived the war to The Git Whisperer? Because this situation really ticked him off. You'd think he'd be able to see his twin in the afterlife, not some sad pathetic prat that nobody liked even when he was alive... no offence to Percy, of course. But there had to be at least something a little wrong with you if nobody noticed you disappeared off the face of the Earth, right?

Fine. George was still angry after the fight that they had. But the gall of that git! How bad did you have to be that even after dying a horrific death, you'd managed to be enough of an arse to make him—George Weasley, Weasley Wizard Wheezes' Co-Founder, Expert in Defence Against Dark Art...Things and Second Wizarding War Hero, hate you?

George was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard Ginny clearing her throat.

"I...I tried to write a letter," Ginny finally broke the uncomfortable silence they were in. "But um…it's not readable and you know, writing has never been my strong suit anyway," still, she started opening said unreadable letter anyway. "Um, Percy…? It's…it's me, Ginny. Well, you can probably see that," she looked up at where she thought that Percy was at.

George stayed quiet. How would she know that he wasn't there?

Hey, at least he knew that Percy was in the house somewhere, eavesdropping and pretending that this wasn't happening to him. How horrible it must be. To have a family that cared about the fact that he croaked in this squalor.

"Yes?" George answered, feeling like the worst wizard in the planet as Ginny nervously smoothed over her parchment.

"Um… these are my children," Ginny pulled out a photograph. In it, five-year-old James tugging at four-year-old Albus' oversized-looking children's robes. One-year-old Lily was safely tucked into Ginny's arms, healthy and pink. "This is James, Albus and Lily," she went silent. "Maybe after…after we clean everything, we could keep this picture somewhere."

Then he realised she was looking at George expectantly, like she was waiting for an answer.

George felt flustered "Um... he isn't saying anything."

But he knew that if Percy was there, he'd go on about how he didn't want this place cleaned and how he'd rather live in a rubbish bin for the rest of eternity if it meant being alone. Like he'd care about how heartfelt this was. How Ginny was bearing her bloody soul to him. The agony that they had felt in the last few years. All he cared about was his stupid house.

_Why did you have to clean my disgusting, inhabitable house? Oh why, oh why, George? How dare you._ George whined in his head.

"Perce, are you okay? Well, you wouldn't be okay because you're dead and…have been dead for a few years now. I guess you think I'm the worst sister ever," Ginny was looking at air. It was so painful to know that. "I'm sorry, Perce. About…about the fight. It was so stupid. I couldn't believe that we held on a grudge for so long over nothing," she laughed lightly but it was rather a nervous laugh. George's stomach churned when he saw why the letter was unreadable to begin with. It was because all the ink from the parchment paper looked like it had been smudged with tears. "Maybe we could…um…well, you know—maybe we could…" Ginny looked conflicted. "Merlin, the last time I saw you, I was flinging mashed parsnips at you. I never thought that that would be the last time. Even though it was a war! I just…"

Ginny paused. "You must hate me," she admitted in a whisper.

Then Arthur cleared his throat. "No," he told Ginny in a firm no. "No."

He looked back at George, at the wall, at where Percy was _supposed_ to be... George thought with a pang of pain in his chest.

"I was about to say the same thing—about myself, but he can never hate you, love. You've never done anything wrong. Now, I...after...after the fight...I..." Arthur finally said, nudging Ginny. She didn't look very convinced. She probably replayed that Christmas day over and over again in her head. George would know because he'd done the same thing. "Percival? This is so strange. Not being able to see you and just… say these things that I wanted to say for a very long time now."

George opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't bring himself to tell him the truth. "He's here, dad."

Arthur nodded his head. He looked so scared, like there was a chance ghost Percy wouldn't accept him.

"I wish I…Merlin, Percy, I just wish things were so different," he paused. "How could I not have known? Why hadn't it ever come to my mind that…" his voice trailed off. He looked truly broken, like there was nothing in the world that could ever mend him again. "I know I'd said so many things during the fight. Things I truly regret. You're my son, but I don't think I've been very much of a father. Especially not in the last decade. I thought we'd won the war but…we…"

Arthur's hands balled into fists. _"Eight years!" _he yelled. "Eight hours would've been a disgrace."

He kept on shaking his head, his voice dropping ot a whisper. "Eight bloody years is just…" Arthur looked truly disgusted with himself.

George couldn't do it. His father looked like he was about to fall apart, and Ginny had tears running down her cheeks.

"Dad, I…" George couldn't let him do this. "I have to tell you something. It's…it's important. It's—it's—"

"Let me finish," Arthur cut George off, clearing his throat. "I know this is a cliché, but I just can't help but wonder if you were in…in any pain when you…"

He paused. George hadn't even thought of that. He'd never once asked Percy how his death was like.

If Percy really did starve to death, George didn't think he wanted to imagine how his death was like. He felt like rubbish just not eating enough for a few hours. He couldn't imagine months and months of existing on marginal amounts of food. Ole Perce probably felt like he was about to collapse at all times... and maybe he did. Besides, how long did it take for you to even starve to _DEATH?_ It sounded like something that took years and years! George didn't even want to think about a death that could've been prevented by a cottage pie and a Victoria sponge. Did his brother really die because_ he starved to death? _

Before he could say anything else, a startled, pale Ginny jumped up from the couch. Percy tore the picture of her children from her, taking it in with an expressionless gaze. He let a finger trail down James' form, his face softening by the second.

George had forgotten that Percy could hold things. How could he? He'd seen him with that framed photo before.

This time, Percy wore one of Charlie's old jumpers and a pair of broomstick pajama bottoms. Had he been _sleeping? _

"George, what you were trying to do is heartless and despicable." Yes, he'd know all about it. He was heartless. Percy had no emotion on his face whatsoever. Well, besides anger anyway. "You should be truly ashamed of yourself."

"_You_ should be ashamed of yourself," George whispered. "You care about your bloody house more than us."

"At least _I_ cared about you, you self-obsessed dolt!" Percy's gaze was so piercing it penetrated through George's soul and left him unsettled. He looked like he'd never been surer of anything in his life—well, his death. "I am an agoraphobe living in a house all alone and I still knew that Fred was dead the very hour that it happened. What was _your_ excuse? That you hate me and that I had a fight with our father in 1995? Merlin, this family is such a joke."

George flinched because Percy didn't care about hurting his feelings. And he wasn't even wrong.

"Are you angry at them too?" George asked, looking at his shattered-looking father and tentative Ginny with big eyes.

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head. He offered the photograph back to Ginny.

Ginny looked a little stunned but pushed the photo back to him. "That's…that's James, Albus and Lily," she pointed towards each person, rubbing her eyes away even though more tears kept on falling. "I must look pathetic. Crying everywhere." She paused. "I can't believe that you're really gone. I mean it didn't hit home with Fred until ages after but with you, it just feels like you're away somehow. Because it's been so long…like you'd just pop in any minute and…"

Ginny paused blathering to take a deep breath. "But George said we can bury you now. At least... at least you'd have that," she whispered.

Percy's shoulder slumped, and he looked defeated. "No, you can't, Gin. You can't," he looked nervous as he put down the photograph on her lap.

What was so bloody terrible about being buried? You'd think that Percy wanted to be rotting in the house forever? Would he cease to haunt this horrible house that he loved so much? George wondered.

"Why can't we bury you?" George couldn't help but ask. "What's wrong with you?"

George still believed deep down that Percy had probably done himself in. Did you see this place? It didn't look like the house of someone that was comfortable with being alive. It looked like someone that had given up. He was sure that Percy had killed himself and didn't want anyone to figure out that he was the one that did it out of either guilt or fear.

"Not this conversation again!" Percy looked irritated.

Honestly, Percy was acting like having his corpse in his house for eight years was a normal thing to do.

"'Rest in peace'," Percy muttered to himself. "What a lie."

George rolled his eyes. "How you rest in peace if you're not even buried, Perce?" he whispered.

Before Percy could even say anything, Arthur shifted uncomfortably in a couch that had three million stains and collected more dust than Grindelwald's grave.

"What are you two going on about?" Arthur asked, looking a little lost.

"Percy won't tell me why he doesn't want anyone to see his body," George crossed his arms over his chest.

He turned to Percy. "What's your excuse this time, you sodding git? Afraid that you couldn't haunt this death trap anymore? Afraid that your ashes don't go with the rest of this disposable rubbish?" he didn't even try to hide his displeasure. They'd been fighting all day... Merlin, they'd been fighting since they'd gotten reacquainted with each other. And Percy was dead! So you could imagine the tension between them if George was still angry at someone that was gone...

Arthur and Ginny looked horrified, like they couldn't believe that George had actually said that to Percy.

Arthur's eyes hardened. "Don't you dare talk to him like that," he said. "Do you understand?"

Again, George felt a shiver down his spine hearing his father talk to him like that. Did you know how long it had been since someone told him off for anything after Fred passed away? Arthur looked serious.

"Dad, he's not a bloody idiot," George couldn't believe that he was defending himself either. "Do you think he's absolutely swooned by this? Do you think that he cares that you're putting your heart out on a plate? Do you think that he's absolutely thrilled that you want to make things better now? Dad, he doesn't care. He's dead. He wants to be alone. He's more miserable than ever. And I can't believe that _I'm_ the one that has to deal with his thick skull!"

George barely had time to process what was happening before he felt Percy push him straight into a stack of cardboard boxes. George barely had the time to react to keep himself. Panting, George tried to process what just happened. He was surprised Percy had the ability to touch him! Did the sodding git knew he could do that and never bothered to tell him? And if he didn't then... Merlin, how pissed was he if he suddenly had the ability to slam him against his precious boxes?

"Hey!" George turned around to look at Percy, who was glaring at him. "What are you? Five?"

Percy rolled his eyes, but he didn't even try to defend himself.

"That's rich coming from you," Ginny huffed almost simultaneously. George looked up to see her glare at him. In fact, both Ginny and Arthur were giving him looks of disappointment. Fine. Maybe George went a little too far with the things that he'd said but Percy was driving him crazy. "George, he died ages ago. What did you expect? That he'd be bursting from excitement?" Ginny asked him, only for George to shake his head.

"It's so easy for you to say," George rubbed his neck. "You don't know what he's like. He's insufferable! He's…he's—"

"So, _I'm_ insufferable!" Percy cut him off, waving his arms everywhere like a maniac. "You'd known I was dead for all of thirty hours! Did it really take that long for me to become insufferable?" his voice was tinged with pain.

"I didn't mean that," George finally answered, even though that he did.

"You don't seem to mean a lot of things," Percy replied back.

George paused and really looked at this house. It disgusted him. It really made him sick to think that someone not only left this house in such a state of neglect but had done so purposefully too. What was going on in that gigantic head of his?

"You don't have to stay here, George," Percy's voice softened to a near whisper. That scared him more than the yelling.

He fumbled with his hands. Arthur and Ginny couldn't help him out, not that they'd want to. "Um, I—" George was cut off.

George looked up to see Percy standing there, looking more human than he'd seen him in ages. Percy had his arms to his side and was looking straight through George. "What do you want from me?" Percy finally asked, sounding on edge. George didn't even know why Percy was this unstable. "If you hate me and this house so much, why don't you just leave me alone? I'm the one with the problem. I'm the one that can't leave so-so why don't you? What's keeping you here?"

"You," George said, and it hurt him to think that he'd never meant anything more.

Percy looked amused. "And you accuse _me_ of lying to you?" that was when it clicked in George's mind that Percy didn't believe that they cared.

He'd never felt a relationship unravel so fast. It was the most harrowing forty-eight hours of his life. George had never had so many emotions hit him at once. From disgust at himself to anger to hatred to pity… he had never felt so angry at Percy, so sorry for him, and he'd just never felt so much in general. Not since Fred's death.

George didn't notice that he'd been crying himself until he felt Ginny's hand on his shoulder.

"Perce, I'm sick of you lying to me," George whispered softly. "I'm all you have. Why are you lying to me?" he sounded so angry. He was so tired of them fighting. He was so tired of trying to break through all those bloody walls that Percy put up.

When Percy disappeared for the millionth time that day, George sighed deeply. He was never going to get through him.

"Hey," Arthur placed his hand on George's arm. "Hey, it's alright," his voice was soft. He was nicer than George deserved.

"I said some horrible things to him," George laughed as if it was funny, but then shook his head. His head was pounding. He didn't even know how he was going to process what had been happening. If Fred was here, he'd be annoyed at him for acting like an absolute arsehole, but he couldn't help it. It was too much for him. Imagine being the only person that could see a ghost. "But I don't know what to do. But he's lying to me. I know he is."

_I hate you,_ he thought of Fred for a fleeting second. How dare he leave him alone with this? _Coward,_ George thought.

"Shh," Ginny was clinging onto his other arm. "It's okay, Georgie," she tried to calm him down. "It's okay."

George just stared at the wall. The wallpaper was peeling off. "No," his voice was cracked. "No, it's not."

Before he could get up, Percy appeared in front of him. He inched a little closer to George, and it felt so strange to have him this close, especially now that he had morphed himself into a bloody fifteen-year-old. Percy reached over to place his hand on where George's ear used to be.

George paused because he could feel it so well. He could feel Percy's very cold skin against his own.

"I don't understand this," Percy's voice was unsteady, and George nodded his head. He didn't understand it either, but he leaned into Percy's hand. "I don't understand why I can do this now when I wasn't…able to before."

He placed his hands on George's shoulders and George took a deep inhale before grabbing Percy and wrapping his arms around him, burying his head against his shoulder. "Perce," George whispered, in pain.

It was enough to bring tears to his eyes. For the first time in ages, he felt like he was really blessed to be able to see him. George couldn't remember the last time he felt so close to him. He could smell their mum's half-off soap on his skin. He had a thousand memories flood into his mind, all of them good.

Godric, what happened to them? George's eyes kept glossing over at the walls. This house made him feel so ill. What happened to Percy?

Looking around the house destroyed him. Percy had three tins of Glass Stain removers by the door, even though the window was smashed. He probably had more beauty products than a Primpernelle factory. He owned ten volumes of the same book and they were stayed on top of one another. He had nobody when he was having a complete bloody breakdown in the middle of the war. It was hard to connect fifteen-year-old Percy to _this_. It was hard to imagine that first year that had panic attacks every time he and Fred spilled something on the carpet did _this_ to his house.

Normal people didn't stack up five couches on top of each other because they'd run out of room. Normal people didn't—

"You didn't die last night, did you?" Percy's voice broke George out of his thoughts. He was floating in front of him again.

Wait, he was just hugging the stupid arsehole. Had he really been so out of it that he didn't notice that he was hugging a_ir?_

"I didn't die last night! Git!" George feigned a look of shock. "Don't you think that maybe nobody else can see you because some warped mental part of you doesn't _want_ anyone to see you?" he didn't mean to word it like that, but Percy looked a little surprised by George's words.

He nodded his head slowly. "I suppose you're right," Percy pursed lips together.

They looked at each other. George couldn't believe that he hadn't had a single good thought about him in eight years. He felt so guilty.

"I'll let you clean my house but there are some things that…" he trailed off. "I don't know." It was obvious he wanted to change but he felt like he couldn't.

That was it? They had made up? George was a little surprised. But he wished that he didn't question it. He wished he hadn't ruined it directly afterwards because it would've been nice to actually have a conversation with him.

"No, Perce, it doesn't work like that," George finally said. "You can't shut me out anymore. I'm all that you have. I'm the only person here that can see you. So you have to talk to me, you prat! Why... why don't you want us to see the body?" the more he looked around the house, the more he was sure of why. "And stop lying, alright? If you want everything to be okay, then stop lying to me! I don't want to fight anymore, Perce, I swear," he finally said when Percy opened his mouth to speak. George shook his head, his hands shaking. "I'm _tired_ of fighting with you. I'm—"

_"I DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW!"_ Percy shrieked out and then George flinched, staring at him with a confused expression. "And _I_ don't want to remember."

A momentary, never-ending silence followed. Ginny and Arthur looked at each other in both a mixture of confusion and worry. George was not even as surprised when he'd been knocked out of his first broom in his second year.

"Know _what?_ Remember _what?_ That you were bloody sick?" George inquired, staring at him with a vacant expression. "What are you so afraid of us finding out?"

Percy just stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, shaking his head in pure disbelief.

"_HOW DARE YOU _question me?" his eyes were glossy and in pain, but it faded away in seconds. "How dare you!"

George flinched. Percy looked away from him. He took a deep breath, even though he didn't need to.

"And why should I tell you anything?" Percy finally said, and then they locked eyes together. George was panting almost, his eyes glossy and confused at Percy's mood swings. "You won't believe me even if I did tell you. You don't believe me now! You've questioned everything I've told you this far and are under the impression that I've been lying to you. How are you sure sure I'd lie to you? Why do you think I'd lie to you? Do you think I'll benefit from this, George? And as if you know enough about me to know whether or not I'm _LYING! _I have not seen you in years. How are you so certain you know anything about me at all?"

His hands were shaking from how angry that he was, and George was silent, his heart racing and he could barely even think.

Percy shook his head. His hands were balled into fists. _"And how dare you? How dare all of you? How dare you not notice I was DEAD? How dare you leave me alone in this house to rot and then dare to QUESTION ME?"_

When he first saw Percy, he was surprised that someone could see him. He acted like it was a privilege to be around them. To have someone that could actually notice that he was there. He remembered how glossy his eyes were when he just realised that eight years had passed. He didn't know. How could he? He had the same routine every day. Nothing in his life had changed in the past few years. But now, he hated them. He hated them for not noticing. He hated them for daring to Merlin-forbid question the fact that he was only twenty-bloody-two when he died. Twenty-two-year-olds didn't just collapse and pass away from natural causes, but Percy hated George prying into it. It had only been two days, but their dynamic had changed a hundred times over. It was so, so _tiring_...

Before he could say anything, Percy suddenly burst into tears and George was so surprised that he didn't even realise what was happening.

"Perce," George's voice was soft. "Perce, stop… stop crying."

Percy closed his eyes, and the tears trickled faster down his cheeks. George couldn't believe that he made a ghost cry.

George almost forgot for a second that he wasn't alone when he felt Ginny sniffing. George looked back at her. Arthur was rubbing his eyes, him tearing up himself. George felt like the world's biggest arsehole. How could he even forget that he wasn't alone?

"He's crying?" Arthur's voice was so soft, but he sounded so devastated, as if his whole world shattered before his eyes.

George nodded his head but stayed quiet. He didn't realise how shocked and pained he was by this sight until he felt tears sliding down his own cheeks.

"Come on, Perce," George tried to urge, talking to him as softly as possible. Percy just kept shaking his head. He got up from his sofa and then tried to weed through all the rubbish to get to where he was flaoting. As he wandered towards Percy, his foot caught into something disgusting and slimy, but he wasn't even bothered. The second that he wrapped his arms around Percy, he felt his cold and clammy skin and his body shaking. Then Percy just disappeared when George tried to tighten the hold around him.

"Perce?" he called out, rejected. _"Percy?"_ he called out again, and heard someone shuffling around in the kitchen.

"One second," he turned to Arthur and Ginny. "I think he's upset. I don't know."

Think? The fact that he had a mental breakdown didn't clue him in already? George scoffed to himself.

"What's going on?" Arthur sounded annoyed as he followed George into the kitchen. The last thing George wanted to do was talk to his father about how much Percy wished they'd go away. "What do you mean he's crying? What happened to him? Why is he upset? What is going on between the two of you?"

Ginny grabbed his arm, but he pushed away from her. "Merlin, George, you're not helping," she hissed. "You're the only one that can see him! The least you can do is tell us what's going on with him!" she shrieked at him. "What is going on?"

"He's…" George just gestured with his hands. He was sick of him? "I'll tell you later."

"Later," Ginny echoed incredulously. "No, tell us _NOW!"_ she demanded.

George couldn't believe that he managed to get to the kitchen as quick as he did.

He was so glad that Arthur and Ginny couldn't see Percy. Because right now, standing there, George found Percy lying sandwiched between two boxes, his hands clutching one of them for dear life. He seemed to have calmed down, but he looked tired too. How could a bloody ghost look tired? It reminded him of Percy walking around in pyjamas. Seriously, he _slept? _

"Perce?" George's voice was soft. "Perce, you know, all this rubbish isn't going to make you feel any better."

Percy didn't even mock him for not understanding him. His soft blue eyes were so vacant. George crouched down next to him, but before he could say anything, George felt Arthur place a warm and comforting hand on his shoulder. He really didn't deserve his father's compassion after ignoring him for the better part of an hour and fighting with his dead son. "Can I?" Arthur asked softly.

George looked up, confused. He moved away and Arthur crouched down, leaving his hand out for Percy to accept. Percy stared at his father's hand and then moved to grasp it. Arthur looked surprised for a second and George watched him slowly smooth over Percy's hand.

"You can feel his hand?" George asked, and Arthur slowly nodded his head.

"It's... smaller than I remember," Arthur finally said.

George nodded his head slowly. "He's fifteen," he explained. "Well...he turned himself into a fifth year. It's better than how he actually looks," He would rather Arthur be holding fifteen-year-old Percy's hand instead of twenty-two-year-old Percy's frail, skeletal hand.

When Arthur moved his other hand to touch his face, Percy jumped up, a look of panic spread on his face.

"Hey, it's okay," Arthur understood what happened even though he couldn't see it. "I won't do it again."

Percy looked across at George and George gave a confirmatory nod towards him. Percy slowly sat down again, and placed his hands around his father's hand, trailing his hands against the wrinkled, freckled skin.

"Perce?" George called out softly.

"He's so old," Percy finally commented, his eyes staring at Arthur's hand.

George felt like Percy sounded like a little kid the second that he said that. George watched Percy's eyes fill with shiny tears. What was he thinking about?

"Perce says that you're so old that even Dumbledore would've called you sir," George rephrased to Arthur. "Isn't that right, Perce?"

Percy didn't even look like he heard him. He was just staring at Arthur's face. Even though it had been years, George could still see the exhaustion of the war weigh heavily on his face. George watched Percy's facial expressions change just as he took in his father's face. From frustrated to terrified to furious to vulnerable to content to indifferent… eight years' worth of emotions condescended in a few seconds.

He looked like he had so much in his mind. But he said nothing.

"Percy?" George's voice was so soft, and he looked like he just realised that he really was here.

He let go of Arthur's hand as if it was a cursed Prefect badge. He looked at George like it was the first time that he'd ever seen him. The shock on his face was palpable, and he looked ill. Well, he looked sicker than he usually did. "Perce?"

He saw the look of pure fear flashing across his face. He closed his eyes, and managed to calm down.

Ginny was crouched down, her white pants stained with whatever amorphous substance was streaked across the kitchen floor. Percy tore the picture of her children from her hand. She probably forgot that she'd been holding it. He leaned against the box, staring at them like he was focusing on the details of an important report. Before George could process what was happening, Percy disappeared and re-appeared all in a few seconds.

A gust of wind blew into George's face, and he saw Arthur and Ginny shudder. There were goosebumps on his skin.

Percy reached out to give Ginny the picture in his hand. She was as delicate as possible taking the photo from him, as if she could somehow destroy an old, decaying yellowed photo just by looking at it. George snorted, but then the amusement left his face as he took in the sights of a tiny little girl that he was almost certain was Percy and Penelope's daughter.


	6. Confession

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Six: Confession

* * *

George was pretty sure that time stood stiller than Percy's corpse.

With a single picture, Percy somehow made George lose an entire hour—a feat for George, who usually had the attention span of Gilderoy Lockhart post-Obliviation charm. Hell, he couldn't spend five minutes staring into a textbook without legitimately snoring. He had to be constantly stimulated, like a toddler that was prone to throwing temper tantrums. Bu here he was now. He'd been gawking at the wall for an hour, stuck in his mind, his thoughts, his absolute, never-ending _pain_. It was kind of incredible. His warm chocolate-brown eyes were transfixed by Percy's photo.

He couldn't even looked at pictures in _Bodacious Beasts_ for that long.

With a deep breath, George took in the little girl's heart-shaped freckled face. She also had big brown eyes that looked like pools of melted chocolate. Well, chocolate that had gone off. Not great for Honeyduke's but perplexing and beautiful on a six-to-eight-month-old (?) baby. George felt nauseous looking at the picture and he felt like that little girl was looking back at him.

It was almost like she was judging him…well, at least she had that in common with Percy. _Percy,_ George thought with a soreness in his throat that couldn't be abated by Pepper-Up Potion. _Percy_, all the events of the last three days came down on him and he felt more confused and perplexed. From Percy being so happy to see them to hating them all in the span of seventy-two hours! Literally. One minute, he was happy someone noticed he died, and the next, he was moody that someone tried to take out the mould-covered cartons out of his fridge…

"Is this…?" Arthur gestured towards the jaundiced photograph, decayed with time. "Is this—"

"Your daughter?" George asked, and he could feel the tension in the air that he could've cut with a knife. Percy looked surprised too, like he didn't expect George to outright say it but nodded his head.

"Your daughter," George reiterated, letting his hands fall to his side. "You had a child," he sounded like he was being strangled as he said it.

_Is this a kid that you never told us about?_ George could hear the betrayal in Arthur's voice. George remembered all those Christmas days that passed by in the last decade. He never invited Percy, not once. How betrayed did he feel that they didn't even send him a card for the holidays when they sent one for Mr and Mrs Baxter every year, even though they had no idea who they were, and why they received their annual low-fat fruit cake with botched-up blue icing and lukewarm diet gingerbread biscuits?

"Daughter," Arthur repeated, and George watched tears run down his cheeks. "Daughter?" he repeated, sounding angry.

Ginny inched forward. She looked like she was trying to stay composed, but her lip was trembling.

"Percy," Ginny's voice was pained, confused and angry. You could hear all the suffering she'd gone through in the last few years—from the war, to James' heart scare, to hearing that one of her brothers had been dead for years. "How did you and Penelope have a child without telling anyone? Without telling mum or dad or…or…" her voice drifted away.

Ginny's shoulders dropped. She knew that he was dating Penelope even before anyone else did. "Or me?"

George watched Percy's face change. He looked…amused, and that was a frightening thought. He looked amused by Ginny being so torn. It sounded almost psychotic. George had no idea what he was thinking, but it made him shudder.

"Is that the pot calling the cauldron black?" Percy laughed, and his laugh sent chills down George's back. Godric, he was feeling really ill by now. "Well, you thought I was alive for all these years, didn't you? Because I don't recall anyone telling me about George getting married, or you managing to pop out three of Harry Potter's sprogs? In fact, I…"

His voice trailed off, and they settled into a silence. George didn't tell her what Percy said. How could he?

"Percy?" George noticed the way his face changed. His facial expressions had gone flat, and his eyes were vacant.

He cocked his head to one side, as he cleared his throat. "Do you remember the deal that _your wife_ and I made?" he asked icily, only for George to silently nod his head. He remembered how relieved Percy looked like when Angelina threw Penelope's flowerpot out of the window, as if he had been relieved of a heaving burden. "Well, I would like to revise it."

_"Revise it?"_ George repeated. "What for?"

George felt Ginny and Arthur look at him with an expecting look. Ginny was clasping the photograph into her hand. For a second, all George could think about was twenty-two-year-old Percy coming down to the kitchen to make coffee. He imagined him dunking in mouldy milk into dusty cups, and expired coffee beans into a broken-down coffee pot. Alone.

"I tell you what happened in the last decade," Percy decided to say, his eyes vacant. "And you get out of my house."

There was a moment of silence. George watched Percy cling onto his box, burying his head into it. He cared about that stupid box, and this stupid house more than he would ever care for anything else in the world, George realised bitterly. Nothing else mattered as long as Percy had his _house_.

When George reached over to touch Percy, he reeled back, pulling the box in front of him as a barrier between them.

"Did I tell you that you could touch me?" Percy mentioned, his voice laced with disgust. Here he was, touching a box that reeked more than a dungbomb, and that was okay. But Merlin help him if George tried to touch him! He who last bathed this morning (not in this death-trap, of course). No, too uncouth for dear ole Percy, whose corpse was rotting upstairs.

George's voice went down in a whisper. "Perce, I—"

"Or I can force you to leave," Percy said hotly.

"How are you going to force me to—" George felt himself being shoved backwards a few inches and he nearly fell straight into the table. But of course, Percy wouldn't let that happen to his precious table. As if he'd let George's disgusting blood mar his dusty, infested furniture.

Percy was just sat there, glaring at him as coldly as possible. "Your choice," his hands were balled into clammy fists.

George felt sicker by the minute and it wasn't even because there was a weird, rotting smell coming from all of these wet boxes. The boxes had more spores on them than the ancient, mould-covered wizarding incubator in Sprout's greenhouse. He looked at Ginny and Arthur, who was staring at him with wide eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"We can talk about this," George decided to say as slowly and as quietly as possible. "You—"

"Don't patronise me," Percy spat out coldly, and then stood up. "I'll give you two hours," he said. "I understand that you probably won't decide at that time considering how horrible with deadlines, but I _will_ force you to leave. Do you understand? And if you attempt to talk me out of this, then you will sorely regret the decisions that I will take after that."

He disappeared right before George's very eyes. Stood there in the darkness, George slumped back. What the hell just happened?

"George?" Arthur's voice was a little forceful and annoyed."Do you want to tell us what happened?"

George didn't even _know_ what happened.

"He... he said that you thought he was alive all this time and nobody ever bothered sending him anything about the weddings and the babies," George said softly, trying to somehow ignore the fact that he had to tell them what came after that. Ginny nodded her head. She looked like she wished that she hadn't said anything. Merlin, George felt so guilty. He was ruining everything for his family. "And he says that he'll tell us what happened to him, but after that, he wants us out of his house. Or he'll just force us out of here by himself," he didn't even look at their faces when he said that.

Arthur nodded his head, as if he was taking in an assignment at the Ministry. Neither he nor Ginny said anything about that. It was almost like they expected him to finally snap.

George apparated away with them back to the Burrow, where he had a house that looked like home. _How could he choose that house over this? _He thought. He just didn't understand.

In the kitchen, George could hear Arthur explain the news to Molly, who almost dropped the wooden spoon she had in her hand. She was stirring in batch of fresh tomato sauce for supper tonight.

The whole living room smelled like Hermione's floral perfume. Ron was sitting on the couch, and baby Hugo was climbing up and down the couch just to test the feel of the egg-yolk-coloured cushions underneath his soft, pale feet. The Weasley family clock was a comforting sight. Hermione was walking down the stairs in the same pair of black trousers that she'd been wearing for two days, but they were pressed and clean. They were cleaner than any single item that existed in Percy's house, which gathered more dust than a book in Pince's restricted section. George managed a half-smile, thinking that he didn't think that Hermione would be one for cleaning charms over a shower. The sounds of crying babies and _home, home, home_ filled George up in ways he didn't know that he had ever needed. He didn't know how to go back to Percy's house. In the next few minutes, he tried to imagine Percy in this house, but it was almost like he'd never been there. It was almost like he didn't grow up in the Burrow, almost like he wasn't obsessed with a Prefect badge. All his memories of Percy felt like they were fading away, and all he could see was fifth year ghost Percy stare back at him with haunted eyes and a blank expression. But that wasn't Percy, not the sixth year that led them all to their dorms whilst billowing his disappointment about how nobody ever followed the curfew times. How could that abandoned ghost really be Percy?

George didn't even realise Molly was standing in front of him until she cleared her throat. Her red old frayed robes were even more frayed than usual, and she was looking at him with a hardened expression. "What did you tell him?" she asked. "What did you say that made him hate us so much? That... that made him decide this?"

"I…I didn't tell him anything," George said, as he cleared his throat. "Mum, he sounded like he really meant it."

"He really meant _what?"_ Molly echoed, her hands shaking. "Why is everyone trying to question everything he's ever done and then be surprised when he retaliates? George, he has been alone with no contact with anyone for a decade! Do you imagine he'd be nice and welcoming? Do you...? And how… how do you expect me to accept that I'll never see him again?"

"We can never see Fred again either, mum," George reminded her softly. "Get used to it." She just huffed and turned away.

George was stuck thinking all alone in the living room. There were very few places in this world that was worse than living in Percy's house. Even at Azkaban's prison cell, you could go to the toilets without nearly having your feet gnawed off by doxies that were living in carpets. Percy lived in almost total darkness. Probably because it was easier to take in the sights of dying, rotting things when you could barely see them. Besides, Percy refused to fix the broken-looking bulbs from his house, and he had towers of cardboard boxes blocking everything under the Merlin forsaken sun. It was amazing you could see at all. It was almost like Percy had an allergy to sunlight.

George then noticed the handle in Percy's clock, which was stagnant and not pointing to anything. Not even _LOST_.

Molly sighed deeply. "I'll go change," she said. "We can go up and listen to Percy telling us together. And then we can sort everything out."

George didn't know what the point of them being there was if he was the only one that could hear Percy. He looked at his father, and then asked him if he told their mum that he could feel Percy holding his hand. Arthur shook his head and walked upstairs to change. Then George went upstairs to take a shower after that. Everyone else was getting ready. Hermione was changing into her clean sweatpants, even though she shouldn't bother. Ron was telling Lee not to let Hugo or Rose blow up the house. Ginny was nursing Lily one last time, as James ran around like a Dementor was chasing him. His mum called Bill and Charlie, who apparated to the Burrow the drop of a hat.

Taking a shower in the Burrow made George feel like he was a Hogwarts student again. He felt like if he just left the bathroom, Fred would be standing there, telling him to hurry up because he'd put something in Ron's drink or was planning on scaring Charlie awake. He felt empty when he realised that he was alone.

After he left, George walked into Percy's old room. It was now Hugo's nursery now. He was getting old. George could remember the day that Hermione brought him back from the hospital, when he was still red-faced and premature. George turned around to take in the colours in the walls, the pastel blue sleepsuits and the cloth diapers that were piled in one corner, along with baby bottles.

Inhaling the smell of diaper rash potions and baby shampoo, George felt his heart grow heavier. Percy Weasley's existence had been erased from this room. It was like he never really existed.

Being in the Burrow made going back to Percy's house even harder than it should be. Every time he walked inside Percy's house, George felt like he was being sucked into a vortex of gloom and despair. He felt so depressed, and he didn't know how Percy lived here without wanting to set this place on fire or escape the prison that he'd made for himself. He didn't understand how Percy looked at the peeling, rotting wallpaper with such affection. The raw stench hit him as he moved inside, and he felt the cool, wet carpet underneath him. He walked upstairs even though his thighs were weak and then collapsed in bed besides his wife, who was still sleeping at five in the afternoon. That was just like Angelina. The whole house could burn down, and she'd still be snoozing away. She was still in her Quidditch uniform and beside her was an empty packet of broomstick-shaped gummy bears. Obviously, proper fuel for his aspiring athlete.

Arthur looked surprised when he walked into Penelope's room. He took in the clean-looking walls, Angelina's frame and the rows of pastel pink candles on the side of the table. He obviously didn't know that not every room in Percy's house was covered in dust, debris and dirt. George sat at the edge of the bed, clearing his throat. There was a photograph of Penelope on the dresser, with her sun-kissed skin and beautiful brown hair. She looked happy. George suddenly couldn't stop thinking about the first day Percy brought them here. He said that he'd refuse to answer any questions about Penelope.

"Well?" George nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Percy's voice from behind him. "Have you made a decision?"

George looked back and saw Percy—_real_ Percy, twenty-two-year-old Percy with hard, soulless bright blue eyes staring back at him. It was like they were staring right at his very being.

Seeing George's stunned expression, Molly looked like she understood what was happening. "We want to hear what you have to say, love," she cooed softly, affectionately even. Yeah, she could do that because she wasn't busy looking at the human Thestral! Blimey. "And George can tell us exactly what you said. Word for word... wouldn't you, George?" she said his name a little forcefully at the end.

George slowly nodded his head. He had a feeling like Percy would be correcting him most of the night.

Percy was floating in the air. Ginny sat down at the edge of the bed along with Molly. Arthur was crouched down on the floor, looking lonely and reserved. Angelina sat up, grumbling under her breath about how she had no idea what was going on and how she wished she could go back to the flat. She had no idea why everyone was here when she wasn't even wearing pants. Everyone was sat somewhere. Bill was stood up against the wall. Charlie was sat on the floor, leaning back into a chair. Even though the seats were comfortable, and the room smelled light and floral, George felt unsettled. He felt even more unsettled than if they were in Percy's foul, cramped living room. He heard Arthur explain things to Angelina, who just rolled her eyes every now and then. Harry didn't look like he knew why he was there, and Hermione was tugging at her oversized pink Quidditch shirt every few minutes. George stared at Percy with a confused expression.

"Tell me," was all George could say, and in the second that he said those words, he realised that he didn't want to know.

Percy was sat on top of the table, floating and leg crossed. His eyes briefly looked at the picture of Penelope. "Well, in 1995, straight after the fight that I had with our father…"

* * *

PERCY Weasley could still remember how sick he felt the second he'd left the Burrow after the fight. There was a lump in his throat and every time he tried to swallow, he was squirming with nausea. His thin hands felt cold and clammy when he pulled out his wand to apparate away from the Burrow. He found himself in the heart and heat of bristling Diagon Alley at nine at night, where the whole world seemed to go on even though he'd just had his heart torn out of his chest. From the corner of his eyes, a couple of fifth years from Harry's year walked out of Honeyduke's with bags of chocolates, laughing. He heard a street merchant trying to negotiate prices for cheap heirlooms that looked like they belonged strapped on aunt Muriel's purse. Meanwhile, all he knew was disintegrating right in front of his eyes and he felt like he was suffocating. Burying his head into Bill's old dragonhide jacket, he felt a loneliness settle in his bones. Ron had put himself in danger more times than he could count. Bill and Charlie moved halfway across the world without sending as much as an owl for most of the year. Yet _he_ was not fit enough to be Arthur Weasley's son!

Well, that was fine—

* * *

"Is _that_ really how you feel?" Arthur interrupted almost immediately. "You thought that you weren't fit to be my son?"

Percy kept his face indifferent. "Well, I think that I just had to after you practically disowned me! Did you recall anything you said that night? About how I was no son of yours?" he yelled hotly, waving his arms around frantically. "_Surprisingly_, I took it to heart," he said, huffing and pushing his emaciated chest up in a dignified manner.

"He says that you said that he wasn't your son," George quietly said, looking at Arthur, who nodded his head mutely.

Percy cleared his throat, and then looked down at the floor. They sat there in silence for some time. George remembered what happened after the fight more than he could remember about what either of them said. It was all a blur to him. He remembered that at the time, Percy had said some truly horrible things and Arthur probably said some truly horrible things back. But George couldn't remember a thing his father said. Was George really that naive? He wished he could remember. He wished he could play back the fight that they were so angry about for years. Was it really worth the current situation they were in? George wondered, staring at Percy's hardened face and flicking back to Arthur's broken one.

"_WELL_, I walked down Diagon Alley," Percy continued slowly, and George nodded his head mutely. He opened his mouth and said exactly what Percy told him, word for word…

* * *

PERCY recalled walking down Diagon Alley with his hands into his pocket. The night was humid. It felt like he was suffocating every time he tried to take a breath. The smells of greasy takeaway chips made him feel sick. He felt furious, and he let the fury fill him up because he didn't want to deal with the hole in his chest. He tried to imagine what he was going to do now. He could imagine this whole night solidifying before him like a game of chess. Whatever move he would make, he would lose. Very inspiring.

The first person he thought that he could go to was Penelope.

She lived smack in the middle of a muggle London street. She was his girlfriend, and his confidant. She would take his side when nobody else would._ Yes, Penny,_ Percy decided right after he passed by three laughing girls that looked like they were doing something they shouldn't be doing. When he apparated outside of her flat, he felt a heaviness in his chest. What happened that night was starting to feel real. He pulled out the copy of her flat keys from his pocket, and with shaky hands, barely managed to open the door. When Percy walked in, he saw Penelope standing by the counter.

If someone tried to Obliviate all the memories he had of his life, he probably would've forgotten everything except the sight of her that night. Her soft, beautiful blonde-brown curls were cascading down her back. She was wearing a white dress shirt that could've been his. _It probably is,_ he thought. _Well, Charlie's hand-me-down probably but... _

Penelope looked back at him with her thick lashes and rich brown eyes. He remembered seeing a story unfold in front of his very eyes. First, there was excitement in her eyes as she realised that he came to see her that night. Then she took in his sombre facial expression and his rucksack. Papers were spilling everywhere and he didn't even care to pick any of them up. Soon, the happiness in her face crumbled and she looked concerned. Her lipstick, cherry red, left a stain on his coffee mug. The one that he'd left here the last time he'd been here two days ago. She'd already claimed it as hers, even though she had a row of them on a shelf. She was wearing his favourite nail polish. Percy remembered how he didn't understand how someone could like him so much when his family hated him—

* * *

"We don't hate you, you self-obsessed berk," Ron cut him off. At this point, Percy was never going to finish the story.

Arthur looked at the floor, his cheeks flushed lightly. "I didn't even know you liked this girl so much, or that you were serious enough to have a key to her flat," he admitted. "You only brought her over to the Burrow once. And you never talked to me about having such relationship…although I should've guessed. Considering that you're such a serious person to begin with…" as his voice trailed off, Molly shifted uncomfortably underneath the weight of the mattress. "I... I just would've liked to know more about that than your cauldron bottom reports," his voice dropped down to a whisper.

"I can't imagine why I never told you," Percy looked over at George, who flushed. Oh yes. He remembered the humiliating dinner that Percy had that day.

They ended up spending the night trying to clean raspberry jelly and custard off of Penelope's blue sundress. She spent the whole night shrieking. Molly ended up having to clean it with their industrial-sized spot and stain remover whilst Penelope frolicked around in Percy's oversized jumper. George assumed that was when she decided she liked wearing his clothes.

"I still have that dress in my house," Molly admitted softly. It still had that stain.

"I don't want to be stuck another decade in this room with you, telling you this story," Percy warned them, only for George to nod his head. But it wasn't like they could help themselves. Percy's point of view was so skewed and different than what George saw and thought of that stupid git. "Now, after I went into Penny's flat…"

* * *

PERCY cleared his throat and then leaned back against her door. "I would like to stay here tonight," he said. It was not the first time that he stayed over, so she complied with this without asking a question about—

* * *

_"What?"_ Molly cut George off, and Percy looked like he was ready to lose it. "I can't believe you, Percival! You told me that you were working late! That's not just withholding information… you lied to me about where you were at the time! Do you know how worried I was at how much you were exerting yourself?" well, Percy _was_ exerting himself. In a different way that she probably initially imagined. Not that their mum ever imagined Percy doing that to begin with.

Percy's cheeks coloured in. "Well, um…" he stammered. "I _was_ working late. I never mentioned the location."

George couldn't help but stifle a snort. "He said he was working late in Penny's flat," he transcribed to Molly. She just huffed and then crossed her arms, muttering things under her breath. For a second there, George forgot that Percy was dead for years and nobody knew. Suddenly, it was 1995, before the fight even happened. George remembered calling Percy down for breakfast, and he would run downstairs hurriedly, like he had been doing it all night. Fred would laugh about the smudges of fresh lipstick on his cheek. It was obvious that he barely slept last night. _It's okay, Perce! We can just tell mum it's icing sugar!_ Fred laughed. Percy furiously rubbed lipstick out of his cheek and then mentioned how icing sugar didn't come in a palette labelled _Dragon Fire Hot_.

"I'm sure there was a lot of _work_ involved," Ron scoffed, but Percy didn't deny his statement. Charlie whistled at him and George chuckled under his breath.

He really was disgusted. He tried to imagine Percy doing something as normal as sleeping with a woman, but his mind blocked out the horrifying mental image. Who even told Percy that was how people reproduced? He always assumed he and Penelope would make a potion baby when the time was right. Percy was the type of bloke that would impregnate his wife based on her ovulation schedule.

"Well, eventually, there was," Percy cleared his throat, not looking at Ron even though it wasn't Ron could see or hear him. But George supposed Percy did hint at it. How else would Penny get his dress shirt exactly? "Oh, please! Don't act like you were surprised that Penelope and I had slept with each other… how did you think that Molly was created? That she just somehow solidified out of Penny and I's magical love for each other?"

"Your daughter's name is _Molly?"_ George found himself asking before he even thought it through.

There was a moment of silence. Of course, Arthur had to tell everyone about the picture of Percy's daughter. It didn't exactly make for lovely lunch conversation, but it had to be said before they came here. George already felt so guilty, remembering how sordid Molly looked like when Arthur mentioned that Percy had a daughter that nobody knew about. He could see that Ginny still had the photograph in her hands. In the Burrow, Charlie had stared at it for ages before letting go of it.

Their mum looked like she was about to crumble but tried to hold her own. George berated himself for being so thoughtless.

"Yes," Percy replied, but it came out awkward. There was a tension in the air that even got to him. "Now, in Penny's flat, I…"

* * *

PERCY had changed into a pair of pyjamas he still had lying around from his last visit. They were Ron's old Chudley Canon pyjamas. They felt wrong on his body after the fight that he'd just had with the lot of them. He remembered climbing into bed and Penelope joining him a few minutes afterwards, clad in a pair of pink pyjamas. She wore slippers with images of baby dragons on them and her hair smelled a lot like his favourite perfume too. He very clearly remembered how quiet everything was, because it was so quiet that it was eating him up inside. It was so quiet that he could feel very single beat of his heart. So quiet that he could hear her breathing beside him. Percy had just taken a shower, but he still felt dirty after the fight he had. He could still feel the beads of sweat forming in his neck when his father told him that he was a fool for believing Fudge. Every time that he closed his eyes, he remembered the words from the fight echoing in his ears. An anger filled his body like no other. Why was everyone else allowed to make mistakes? Why was it the only time that he made a single mistake, his father told him he was ashamed of him? His bloody uncle got drunk every day and scared small children off by pooling flowers from his crotch but the real disappointment in the family was _him_. How could that be? Percy laid in her dimly lit room, wallowing in his own self-pity.

Meanwhile, Penelope was reading a book. Horrible one actually. Percy remembered seeing the cover and being mildly amused at her poor choice of literature. But he was too busy hating himself to go into a rant about how unauthenticated the sources of her book were.

Percy really did feel like such a fool. How could he be conned by the prospect of unconditional love? Every piece of affection he'd ever received had been at a price. Of course, his mum loved him. He was the least problematic of the bunch. Even his birth was uneventful. He practically walked out of his mum holding a four-foot essay, ready to work on his Charms homework before its due date. How could he believe that he was unconditionally loved when he was laughed and prodded at all times? When his own father stood there silently when the twins mocked and jeered at him in the sake of having a laugh or two at his very expense? Where they there for him when he was up all night, studying for his O.W.L's and nearly passed out in the middle of his Transfiguration O.W.L because he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than two hours a night?

* * *

"Now, that's just not true," Arthur decided the need to tell him. "We unconditionally love you. We always have."

"Perce, we just wanted you to loosen up," George said softly, speaking on behalf of Fred. He was for once glad that Fred wasn't here for this. Glad that Fred had escaped this. "You can be such a prat."

Percy sent a piercing glare at Arthur. "Oh, shut up," George was not telling anyone that he said that. "Unconditionally love someone that you didn't notice had spiralled into insanity and died in the last decade." The amount of scorn in his voice really got to George. He didn't know what he was thinking. How he could go from being shocked at how old Arthur and Molly were and how much time had really passed to feeling so angry and hurt enough to push them all away. How could you be so appreciative of the littlest thing that people had to offer you and so demanding? How could you hate someone you love so much? How could be so clean and meticulous all your life and grow up to hoard rubbish bins and eat out of old, mouldy tins and clinging onto ratty old tattered papers? How could both those people co-exist?

George closed his eyes. "He said that he doesn't believe you," he rephrased, and Arthur looked really like he was in pain.

"That's not what I said, George," Percy finally said, his hands clutched to the sides, balled into fists.

"I can't tell him what you said," George said in a soft whisper. "It's so cold."

"So cold? So _cold?"_ Percy reiterated, and then laughed emptily. He shook his head. "Look at the lot of you. You dare come into my house eight years after I've died, and tell me that you feel so bad for me? Tell me that I'm being cruel and cold to you? How lovely I am to be graced. The bloody Weasley family…look at all these over-achievers and war heroes! They make everyone under the sun feel right at home. I mean just look at Harry! He came from nothing and you gave him a whole family and home. I have no idea what I've done so wrong to be treated in such a manner." His eyes were glossy with unshed tears, and George felt his heartbeat quicken. "You got what you wanted. I am _NOTHING_, just like you've always thought of me. I died being nothing. Nobody remembers me. I am worth nothing to anyone. So, please, do not have the gall to walk into my house and tell me that you have an unconditional love for me! Do you understand?"

George closed his eyes, and even though it killed him, he recited Percy's words. He didn't want Percy to go off again, to leave them. He had to do this on Percy's terms, even though he was so unhinged that it actually made him feel so bad for him sometimes. Word for word, he didn't dare look at his family when he said this. He kept his eyes locked on Percy; whose expression was unwavering. A silence filled the room right even long after George was done talking. Every word George was saying made him feel sick, because up until now, his family was blissfully unaware of how Percy really was.

He saw Percy inch towards him. Their faces were next to each other. George hated looking at him, at how sunken his cheeks were and the hollow sockets that were his eyes. He barely looked human anymore.

"Even dead, I'm being accused of things from the moment that you laid eyes on me. It barely took you two days and you're actively fighting with me," Percy whispered to George. "I don't trust you, George. And I'm sick of falling for the ruse that you give a rat's arse about whether or not I'm alive or dead. I will satisfy your curiosity if you'd like. You can bury whatever is left of my body if that is what you so wish, but then please, then just leave me alone."

He met Ginny's eyes for a second, and she knew that he'd said something awful, but she didn't pry into it.

"Okay, Perce," George said vacantly, feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. "If that's what you want." He paused. "Can you...? Can you tell us more?"

"Fine, if I can remember where we even left off..." Percy cleared his throat. He didn't look like he was really excited about telling them any of tihs. George decided that he was going to fix this at the end. He didn't know how but he was going to do it but he was. "I believe that I was sat in the dark and…"

* * *

SAT there in the darkness, Percy wondered if maybe he had been in the wrong. Was he too quick to judge the fact that Harry might not be mental? He'd seen Harry walk around school all year. As far as Percy could tell, he wasn't sprouting out conspiracy theories and blowing up cauldrons on purpose because he was scared about who was listening in on his conversations. But what he did know was that Dumbledore, in contrast, was worse. He was madder than he was a genius these days—seemingly putting children in harm's way every year. It was a shocker that McGonagall hadn't put him in his place yet! First years being put in danger with a troll was released by an unsuspecting professor! Ginny and that diary! A suspected convict loose in the safest place in the wizarding world!

* * *

"Wait, you feel bad about what you said about Harry?" Ginny cut Percy off at—well, the start of his spiel.

"Yes, I already told you that," Percy straightened his back and then looked at Ginny with a look of annoyance. George almost wanted to laugh. Percy hadn't even told them anything yet. "I do not dislike Harry, as… as misconstrued as some of the things that he'd done." He looked over to Harry, who looked pale. "There is no reason why Harry should be blamed for a failing system, part of which was… unfortunately, the government." There was a sorrow in his voice.

"He says he doesn't hate Harry," George paraphrased, like he did with most of the stuff Percy said. There was a vacant look in his face, thinking about his beloved Ministry that had completely failed him. It was almost sad. "It's such a heartfelt reunion. Look at Harry over there, bristling with joy knowing that his ghost brother-in-law doesn't hate him."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "Hey, Percy," he said, raising his hand up in the air as if to say he was there.

_Wow_, George thought with a roll of his eyes. Harry was really one to watch. How did he even manage to get Ginny?

"Well, of course, naturally, as Penelope and I were very close, I had to tell her about the fight…" Percy continued. George was surprised that he told her anything considering he liked to run away from his troubles, but he stayed quiet. "Eventually." When George heard that, he rolled his eyes. Of bloody course. Why wasn't he shocked?

* * *

PERCY had told Penelope about the fight—at around three in the morning when she was trying to go to sleep. He woke her up from her sleep because the fight was playing in his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father stare back at him with disgust. He was restless, and even the smell of her lavender lotion was not enough to calm him down.

He just didn't understand where it all went wrong. Percy remembered just coming in from work when Ron had told him to come down to dinner. He remembered sitting down at the table, absolutely famished even though he'd already eaten a cinnamon roll the size of his head just two hours prior. He'd scoffed two plates of roast gammon before Fred even looked at a bread roll. By the time Percy was ready to tell his news, he was already eying up the rapidly diminishing Yorkshire puddings. He remembered the childlike excitement he had in his voice when he told him about the promotion whilst he was dumping more roast potatoes into his plate in premature celebration of his promotion. He genuinely believed that they would be pleased for him. It was, after all, just a steppingstone to being the Minister. But the reaction that he'd gotten made him feel like he'd been knocked out of his broom. Suddenly, he felt his whole world stop.

It was like the tireless hours he spent working under Crouch disappeared into ether. Every mistake, every character flaw he had, felt like it was so vividly displayed. He could hear the twins laughing at him, even though they were munching through mashed potatoes, silent. He could taste the bittersweet taste of his failure at the tip of his tongue.

As he told her about the fight—erratically (really, he made very little sense), Penelope just nodded her head drowsily.

"Percy, is there any real reason you're telling me all this at three in the morning?" Penelope asked with a yawn.

Percy nodded his head mutely. "I'm going back home," he decided, and then sat up, smoothing over his pyjama top—well, not _his_ (Ron's.) As he reached for his wand, he felt Penelope grab his arm. "If I don't end this now by _apologising_ to them, this fight will continue on into the next decade." He said the word _apologising_ so bitterly. Because why should he apologise?

Penelope sat up, her curls flying everywhere. She opened the bedside lamp and stared at him with surprise.

Why was she surprised? If he didn't admit he was wrong, this whole fight would escalate. He could easily not take the job and lick his wounds for the next few months whilst he worked his way up the ladder the hard way. Percy knew that if he came back home, they'd take him as long as he apologised. The thought made him angry, because he felt like he deserved an apology. _Maybe when You-Know-Who marries mum_, Percy thought bitterly. As if his father would apologise to the family git, even if he knew he was in the wrong. Percy knew his position in the family very well.

"If you apologise, then that…that means you can't take the job," Penelope said, only for Percy to nod his head mutely.

Penelope cleared her throat. "What if…what if I told you that there's a really, really good reason why you should take that job?" she asked, and he stared at her with confusion.

Penelope was still an intern in St Mungo's, with a very low income as it was. She spent most of her day working and did thirty-six hour shifts once or twice a week. Before Percy could ask her what in Merlin's name she was talking about, she opened the drawer and then offered him a paper from St Mungo's.

Percy had no idea why she thought that a piece of paper would change his decision, but when he opened up the letter, he felt his heart stop. Merlin forsaken Penelope. Who decided to tell their long-term steady boyfrined that she was pregnant via a St Mungo's OBGYN visit letter? But he was impressed. It was exactly what he would've done if he was a woman.

The first thing that Percy said, "Should you really be sleeping on your abdomen?"

Penelope smiled back at him, snorting before she stole the letter from him. "I was going to tell you this week," she admitted. "Gently, over a nice dinner whilst you tell me all about the bloke at the owlery that refuses to give you the name of his supervisor. Shameful that that was taken away from us," she was still smiling. Didn't look like it was much of a shame to her.

"I don't understand what this has to do with apologising to my family, you must realise," Percy told her. Why would having a baby change anything, except drive a bigger wedge in his family? It wasn't like his parents cared about the fact that neither of them were married. They could even get married before she started showing and just call it a honeymoon baby that she had prematurely!

Penelope just shook her head. She was staring at him with a look that said that she couldn't believe that she could be so lucky. Obviously, his girlfriend had been hit by a Bludger before.

"Percy, with your current salary, you are eating half-off potato pies from a vendor that you don't really trust because it's all you can afford," she reminded him, only for Percy's cheeks to colour in. Yes, well, it was hard to make do when your salary was only a little higher than the pocket money your mum gave you when you were a Hogwarts' student. "Meanwhile, I pack disgusting low-priced beef and feta sandwiches from home for my on-call days because I can't afford paying for takeaways all the time. Look, it's up to you, but we can really, _really_ use the money. And the job with Fudge..."

Percy couldn't help but think about it. He remembered his upbringing so clearly that it almost ached his very bones. He remembered seeing his old photos and not being able to tell his and Bill's apart, because they looked almost virtually the same. They had similar bodies and frames, and wore the same sleepsuits and were fed from the same bottles. He remembered the panic that he felt in his chest when he slid on Charlie's hand-me-downs and he heard a rip when he was trying to pull it down. He remembered being afraid that he would balloon once he hit puberty and that his parents would be disappointed in him. He remembered being sick to his stomach as he was being measured in the healer's office, because he was scared of being taller than Bill because it meant that he would look so horrible in Bill's clothes. He could remember refusing to eat dinner because he was so sick of eating the same meal for lunch and dinner for three days straight. He could remember how it was like to wear the same pair of shoes down until his feet were blistering when he walked. Percy could remember going out to Hogsmeade weekends with Roger Davies, trying to decide whether he'd rather have a vegetable chowder or a new pair of discounted quills.

His parents may be perfectly happy with what they had, but he could hear a frustrated Ron being angry that Harry wanted to pay for him. He remembered a drunk Charlie violently mentioning how he hated getting Bill's textbooks every year. Percy maintained a smile every time his mum knitted him a jumper with cheap materials that made him itch, but it was hard to maintain that facade all of the time. His parents might be perfectly happy living in poverty, but that didn't mean that they necessarily were. And Percy was the only one that had ever said anything.

He meant what he said about his father choosing to stay in the same department because he was ambitionless. He didn't care about how often he heard that serenade about how much family mattered and how a couple of Galleons weren't worth that much, but it left Percy feeling bitter. Even working, he barely made anything. Percy didn't want to be his father. He didn't want to have his children wishing they had money for butterbeers and ice-cream when they went out with their friends. He didn't want to give his children all hand-me-downs and cast-offs. He didn't want to tell Penelope to change her job, even though Percy knew that she had a glorious offer for a Herbology course in Bath. He didn't want them to feel like he could've been more than he was. (Oh, if only he knew at the time what would happen to him. It was laughable. At least Arthur Weasley didn't stay in the house for months on end, afraid of the walls closing on him. At least he could _work_ without breaking down. He had been such a stupid naive fool, not that he told George any of those things...)

Percy had one choice in front of him. He could apologise to his family and go back into the Burrow with people that thought less of him than Pigwidgeon, or he could stay with a woman that loved him and provide for their baby.

He sat there the whole night, thinking of alternatives. Thinking that he could've asked Bill or Charlie for help, but they couldn't give him handouts that were so desperately clamouring for. He could just resign himself to a future where he was just like his father, but his heart just wouldn't let him. He tried to embrace that part of him that said that it didn't matter. That the clothes didn't matter. That maybe his child wouldn't care about those things, but it mattered to him. Percy remembered sat there in the darkness, being so angry that his family had made him feel so guilty about taking a position that he always wanted. His initial enthusiasm disappeared. How dare his family, people that loved him, make him feel this way all the time? Why couldn't they just be happy for him? Proud of him? Why was it so hard to accept him? _You're a fool if you believe that Fudge really wants you to be his assistant,_ he remembered hearing those words so vividly. _He only wants to use you._ He was so insulted. Even if Fudge did spy on his family, did they really think that he'd give them all away for a promotion? Did they not trust him? How could _he_ trust them?

"Percy?" he remembered hearing Penelope break him out of his thoughts. "Listen, I don't want to break whatever you have between you and your family. I don't…I just thought to mention that maybe—"

"You can't break what has never existed. No matter what, they will always think the worst of me," Percy could still feel the pain that he had in his chest. He felt so alone, even with Penelope sat there beside him. He didn't feel safe. He didn't feel happy. He didn't even think about the fact that Penelope was _pregnant_—the thought and the idea of another human being growing inside of her even hit him. They had robbed him of that too, like they'd robbed him of every other thing in his life. "My absence will be the same as my presence and vice versa."

"That's not true," Penelope moved to place her hand on his arm. "They love you!" she tried to encourage him. "You're family."

"What does that even mean?" Percy replied back. He felt so much in pain. "Yes, family... people that laugh at my face whenever I struggle and refuse to have any shard of respect for anything I stand for. But they tell me that they _love_ me. What an ultimate joke...and then they tell me that _I_ have no sense of humour." He chuckled under his breath.

"Do you know what hurts me the most, Penny?" Percy's voice was strained. "Do you know how many Howlers mum sent? Do you have any idea how many times my siblings have gotten in trouble with my parents, or had fights with them? Do you know how many times that my siblings had gotten themselves in danger? Do you know how many secrets every one of them has that they excluded me from? They think I don't know, but I do. They have all made so many mistakes. They'd all had so many fights... except me. This is my first. And look at what happened." He shook his head in disbelief, tears blurring his eyes. "How is this fair? How am I not allowed to make a single mistake?"

But at least now, he didn't have to impress anyone anymore. He didn't have to live up to a single person's expectations. He didn't have to compete with Bill's smarts, Charlie's good looks and brawns, Fred and George's sociability or Ron and Ginny's bravery. He could be boring stupid Percy all by himself, with nobody to judge him every time he opened his mouth…

* * *

That was when George could barely continue talking. Percy was still rattling on about how exhausted he was for the first day working underneath the Minister, but George stayed quiet. He listened to Percy talk about how he hwalked into the room with his battered old, reduced price clipboard, or how he'd accidentally spilled ink over the Minister's robes and nearly passed out from the sheer terror.

Percy really thought that they hated him. Not just for a year, or two—he'd spent his whole life believing that they hated him. He _died_ believing that they hated him...

George felt an ache in his throat. _Did you think that he died thinking about how happy and loved he was? You didn't even know about his death!_ George thought to himself bitterly. But it was harder to really think about it. Think about how much pain Percy had to be in the moments that he died. It was hard to imagine how Penny left him when she didn't even bat an eyelid to how Percy decided to leave his family. How could someone support him so much let him become so sick and then leave him alone? How come she never told anybody? What happened?

"We don't hate you, Perce," George said softly, breaking Percy in the middle of his conversation. "We never did."

Percy stared at him as if he was waiting for the punchline to drop, but the whole room just went silent. George placed his hands on his knees, and then cleared his throat. Then he admitted something that he'd never thought he'd ever have to say.

"I was jealous of you," George said, but he saw the bemusement on Percy's face. "No, really, I was. You were _perfect_. You never did anything wrong. You were the only one that dad trusted with loose change. You were so precious that mum always did your laundry separately from everyone else's. You were the only one that did everything by the book. Whenever mum was angry at Fred and me, she'd tell us about how you would've never done any of that." George shook his head quietly. "You somehow were born with a manual for how everything was supposed to be, and you were _always, always_ right. You were right about us. You were right about Gin in second year. You were right about how we didn't care about anything."

George shook his head in disbelief. "The one day that you were wrong," his throat ached. "It was like Christmas. We finally had one over on you. We can finally feel like we did something better than you just once. That day you were almost human for just a second... but even when you were gone, you were still there. Charlie and Bill can leave for months and it didn't feel strange, but even when you were gone, it was like something was missing. Something that should be there and was not. Like it was gone and we didn't know where we even put it. Classic Fred and George, don't you think?"

Percy looked shocked, and George crossed his legs together, not meeting his eyes. In that moment, they had a conversation just in silence. It lasted all of three seconds, but it felt like it stretched hours and days and months and years. George looked up at Percy and he could almost hear him say _Really? _George just nodded his head mutely, staring at his shoes.


	7. Revelation

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Seven: Revelation

* * *

Percy and George spent ages just staring at each other. It seemed like George spent most of his time gawking at Percy like Flint used to gawk at that Beauxbatons transfer ended up in Slytherin. Him staring at Percy didn't really accomplish anything other than freak everybody else out because they couldn't see the self-obsessed twat close himself in! George sighed deeply. But it wasn't like he was checking Percy _out_. Even if he was bent, he was sure that Percy's gaunt face and hypnotic eyes could send a Dementor running the other way.

George cleared his throat, feeling his stomach acid burning a hole in his oesophagus. Great! Just what he needed right now—reflux! And it wasn't like he spent last night scoffing a chicken korma before bed either. This was so unwarranted.

Did you understand that ten minutes of words exchanged between them would've saved _YEARS_ of pain and anguish? It... it wasn't fair.

George couldn't believe what just happened. He and Percy understood each other, if just for a fleeting moment. Of course, it would probably last just that one second, but for that whole second, George felt a comforting warmth fill the hole in his heart and he was so sure that Percy had felt the same way too. He had not felt that way with anyone other than Fred.

_I understood the stupid git,_ George thought to himself in disbelief. _I wish Fred was alive to see me click with Percy… PERCY!_

Even though it had been years since Fred's death, George still felt the pain of his loss every day. He remembered sat in his bed alone months after Fred's death, with the same thought swirling over and over in his head. _If I would've pushed him away, I could've saved him._ The guilt eschewed his bones and left him spineless. The guilt followed him around like a cloud of darkness. Wherever he closed his eyes, he could feel the Dementors chasing after him for his crime. _Take me_, he used to think... and still sometimes did. _Take me, take me, bring him back_. _Please_, he begged in his dreams over and over again. The thoughts came rushing back for just a second and they left him feeling almost paralysed. He felt numb and cold. Then he looked at Percy and spoke.

"When you didn't show up in Fred's funeral, I hated you," George broke the uncomfortable trance they settled in.

_I thought you were lucky,_ George snorted. _I didn't know that you were so mental that you were busy building forts of rubbish because you were more afraid of Diagon Alley than you were ofYou-Know-Who._

Bill moved away from the wall that he was leaning against. "George, you—"

"We all did," George's voice was so soft that if it was a biscuit, it would literally crumble into the dust that made up Percy's walls. Whenever he took a deep breath, he inhaled a decade's worth of pain and it set his lungs on fire. "I…I felt like nobody should be allowed to live their lives when he couldn't. I felt angry that you didn't see how he died. That you didn't hold him… that you didn't…" George's voice trailed off and his hands were shaking. Those feelings came back like they were just yesterday that he felt them. _Percy would know what to do_, he remembered thinking minutes after Fred died. As if Percy would wave a wand and all his pain would all magically go away, just like it did when Percy saw a mess on the floor or a spill in the carpet.

_Percy knew how to do everything_, George remembered thinking. _He would fix this. He would come back and fix this… he has to come back. He HAS to!_

"I knew you survived the war. I would've never thought, not in a million years, that you died, Perce," George said. "I mean, how could I?" Angelina was reaching over for his hand, but he didn't even look at her. If he looked at her, he'd lose his nerve. "I mean if you survived a dragonpox outbreak, why would you die from the flu? It…it doesn't make any sense."

"No," Percy cleared his throat. What would be stuck in his throat anyway? Ghostly spit? "It doesn't."

In his mind, Percy survived the war, so he _had_ to be alive. Because with the war, it had escaped everybody's mind that you could die of other things too. But every day, people still died when they fell off their broomsticks, when their house was set on fire, when they killed themselves. But it almost like the only thing that existed at the time was the war and Fred's body. But a part of George was almost glad that nobody knew about Percy at the time. If they knew Percy had croaked in this rubbish bin he consistently called a home, he didn't know how they would've moved on. _You're a selfish git_, George told himself. _How could you be glad that you didn't know about Percy's death?_ But he knew deep down that they wouldn't be able to cope. Molly kept on crying every day for a whole year after Fred died, and George could still barely celebrate his birthday (if buying a cupcake and eating it alone in his shop whilst sobbing counted as celebrating to begin with.) She would've lost it if she knew that her precious Percy went from folding starchy laundry sheets to hoarding flobberworm-infested takeaway boxes. And he couldn't deal with his mum and dad's guilt over Fred's death. He just couldn't.

When he closed his eyes, George could still remember feeling his twin's cold body cradled in his hands. He was sure that he could feel the life inside of him draining away—and taking whatever was left of George with him.

"I lost myself, Perce," George admitted. It surprised him to say these things. It had been eight years since it even happened. Why would he still care? He was supposed to be over it now. Okay, nobody believed that he really was okay, but he should be... yet he wasn't. It killed him every day to be the twin that survived when it should've been Fred. "I lost half of me, but it felt like I lost all of me. Because he was the half that always knew what to do."

George laughed, choked up by tears. "We're the same, you know, you and me in a way. You followed rules. He told me what to do and I did it without a single question. It was…" he shook his head. "I needed you so bad. And even if I knew you died, I would've been furious that you dared to die and leave me alone when I _needed_ you to tell me what to do!"

A silence filled the room. Angelina got out of her bed and sat down beside him. Gingerly, she wrapped her arms around him, as his body shook with the pain of everything. Fred's death. Percy's death. The expectation that he'd had all throughout the years. The way that people looked at him. If Percy didn't have his Prefect badge and twelve O.W.L's, then he wouldn't be Percy. If George didn't have Fred, then who was he?

"Even... even if I hadn't died, George, I wouldn't be in the right position to give you advice," Percy's voice sounded scratchy as he looked at his house. For a moment, George could see his Percy sat there, their rule-abiding, clean-freak Percy. He must be terrified of what had happened to him. "You would've hated me for being ill, just like you would've hated me for being present. No matter what I did, you would've wished that I wasn't there." Deep down, George knew that he was right, but he just shook his head.

_Selfish_, George thought of himself. Selfish for being glad he didn't see Percy in this state after Fred's death. But how could you mourn two people in the family the same time and recover?

George tried to imagine having to see this house straight after Fred's death. It would've destroyed him. But Percy died _after_ Fred did. Which meant there had to be a day that maybe, he could've saved him. But even if he'd had the chance, he didn't know if he would've helped him deep in the throes of his own grief. _Selfish_, George thought. _Selfish, stupid git. And then you get angry when he talks back at you?_

What kind of arsehole brother wasn't 100% sure that they'd save their own flesh and blood if they had the chance?

Percy inched away from the dresser. Somehow, George couldn't remember what in Merlin's name they were fighting about for the last three days that had formed this horrible rift between them. But all George knew was that he didn't care about upsetting Percy anymore. He had to tell him all these things that were on his mind. Because if he never told him and he threw him out of the house, Percy would never know. And that hurt a lot more than the idea that he was never going to see Percy again. Because wasn't the point of seeing your brother's ghost was telling them all the things that you wish you would've said when you found out that they passed away? George thought of all the things he wanted to tell Fred all the time. How much he hated him, how much he loved him, how much he needed him, how scared he was without him. He had that chance with Percy, and he was not going to waste it because he was afraid of what might happen if he did. Percy had to know. He just _had_ to.

George shook his head. "Do you know how happy I am that Fred's not here to see you like this?" he was in so much pain. Just saying Fred's name made him feel wrecked, and he avoided it whenever he could. "It would've killed him to see you like this," he laughed. His chest felt like someone had decided to _Incendio_ it.

Percy flinched, but he stayed quiet. Sometimes, talking to Percy was like talking to an emotionless brick wall.

"Hey, hey," Angelina whispered into his ear, still holding onto him. "It's okay," she cooed gently into his ear and he melted into a warm, George-shaped puddle at her very touch.

"He technically did see me… and he wasn't too pleased with what he saw," Percy said in a whisper, only for George to snort. Leave it to Percy to talk about technicalities at a time like this. George didn't realise that he was shaking until he looked down and saw his hands trembling. He didn't realise how much he'd cried until he noticed the blotches of tears on his oversized Quidditch shirt. He didn't even remember when he'd decided to wear this. "George? Are…are you okay?"

In the same second, Angelina moved apart from him, placing a hand on his cheek. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his mother stare back at him. He didn't deserve her. Merlin knew how she'd feel like if she knew that he was glad that they hadn't been dealing with two deaths instead of one. Selfish arsehole.

"Love," Molly whispered very gently to him, as if she was afraid he'd snap. "This is good, you talking about him. About Fred. It's been years, love."

_He was my twin!_ What do you mean it's been years? was all that George could think, but his throat felt dry._ I'm sorry._

"Hey," Angelina whispered to him. "Are you okay?"

_No, I've just been crying for twenty minutes as an acting exercise_, George thought to himself bitterly. He didn't say that either.

"Just let the stupid git finish his story," George demanded, tired form all the crying and the pain. Percy nearly jumped up in surprise, but didn't look offended by his statement. "So, last you left off in your riveting tale, Penny's knocked up, and you hated dad. Alright, so, what happened after? Is that why you bought this crummy place? For a baby?"

Percy slowly nodded his head, and then cleared his throat. _Georgie, are you really okay?_ hang in the air, with Percy, with his siblings, with his parents. Merlin, he was obviously not okay, so why did they bother asking him? "Well, um…" now, Percy looked awkward as he shifted his weight from side to side.

* * *

PERCY barely slept the first few nights away from home. He felt so depressed most days that he turned up _on time_ to his work assignments, which for him meant that he was an hour late. Percy spent his whole day making sure that he intentionally was forced to share a room with his father, from taking his breaks at exactly ten pm (since when did he have breaks?) to choosing to go to that disgusting coffee cart at the Atrium that made him pay a knut for black-tinged water. But he and his father never struck up a real conversation, even when they were waiting in a long line right beside each other. And in the times that they did, it was strictly related to how busy their day was. Honestly, Percy had seen two cauldrons strike up a better conversation. The relationship he and his father had gone so far beyond repair. Honestly, it was like he'd stabbed Uncle Billius in the chest in his sleep! The amount of distrust his father had for him was so unexpected... and frankly, unwarranted. Not to mention that he was sure Neville and Snape were about as likely to elope as they were to make up.

_How pathetic are you_? Percy remembered thinking. _I was going to apologise to you, but I'm glad I didn't. You don't care about me. You care about your pride and stature… yet I'm the one that's self-obsessed? You're willing to let this fight go on because you don't want to apologise to me and boost my ego? What a laughable thought._ Percy remembered waiting outside the Ministry entrance a little while longer just to catch sight of his father, who usually came around at 8:00 on the dot, and not a moment before. Most days, Percy would give anything just to end this stupid fight, but every time he opened his mouth to apologise, his throat went dry. Why should he apologise? If he apologised, his family would never think that they'd been in the wrong to accuse him of being so unpalatable and untrustworthy to begin with!

* * *

Arthur flinched when George reiterated those words quietly. "Is that what you think of me?"

Percy just stared at him vacantly. "It's not what I think of you," he said a little forcefully. "It's what happened."

With the blink of an eye, Percy had changed. He now back to his fifth-year form and was wearing one of Bill's oversized green jumpers and a pair of old, black trousers. George let out a breath of relief he didn't know that he was holding. He was sick of seeing skeletal Percy. Every time he looked at him, all he could think about was how upset their mum would be if she saw him. It was bad enough knowing that the child she took care of for twenty years died died in this squalor. How was their mum, who fed them massive portions because she didn't like to know that her child was ever hungry, supposed to feel knowing that their child became mental, started hoarding things and starved to death in a filthy house all by himself? And Percy was her favourite. Everyone knew that!

"He says it's what's happened but it's not," George shook his head. "It's not what happened, Perce." This wasn't about the fight. Percy might want to throw them out after this, but he was not going to let him talk badly about their father. Percy might kick them out and refuse to talk to them forever, but Arthur would never forgive himself.

Percy stared down at the ground. "Yes, because you knew what was really going on between us, as you sent me samples of dragon dung disguised as Norwegian fertiliser."

George didn't repeat any of that. He just stared at Percy, trying to imagine the hatred that he was trying to cast aside. He hated them. He had to, even if he wouldn't outright say it. He could understand why, but George was still seriously hurt by how much resentment Percy had for them. Percy already wanted to throw them out of his bloody house and it had only been a couple of hours. But if Percy knew he never was going to see them again, the least he could do was try to shield his distaste towards them. "Percy, you left dad for dead too," George reminded him. He had to defend his father. He wasn't going to let Arthur go home, hating himself for a fight that happened so long ago it must as well had never happened to begin with! "And you sent back mum's jumper."

"George," Arthur warned him with an unsteady voice. He gestured him to stop with his shaky hands. He looked furious. "Take that back... now!"

"You say stuff like that and are annoyed when he gets angry at you!" Ginny yelled, standing up from her chair and looking at him with as pointed expression. "So stop, why don't you?"

Percy stood up, his eyes hardening as he stared straight into George's face. The anger in his face just disappeared and his face just crumbled. Then after that, tiny little sobs escaped his throat and nearly tore George's heart apart. Percy tightly wrapped his arms around himself, looking away from George. He managed to calm down soon afterwards, but his face was flushed, and he looked to be in a great deal of distress. _Will he start crying every time I mention how much he acted like a git in the stupid bloody fight?_ George thought to himself in annoyance. But when Percy started crying, he couldn't bring himself to continue his interrogation. He was almost lucky nobody else could see Percy, because if everyone else knew how often he made Percy cry, they wouldn't be rubbing his back and whispering sweet things into his ear anymore. But he just couldn't let Percy give them the impression that he'd never done anything wrong in his life! How was that fair?

When George tried to get up from his bed to walk over to him, Percy just shook his head.

What was worse than seeing Percy sob and cry was knowing that he wanted to be left alone even after he spent the last decade all by himself. _He doesn't trust you_, George realised with a serious pang of anger, pain and regret_. And why should he? It's only been three days and you've made him bawl like a bloody baby every time you talk to him_, he thought with a shudder.

"Don't touch me," Percy warned. His voice made George feel like he'd just overdosed on Ice Mice from how cold it was. "Just do what you're told for once and leave me alone."

George just stayed quiet for a while, his hands on his lap. He wondered what Percy was thinking about right now, because he obviously was really upset about George's accusations. But if Percy was so upset about leaving Arthur in the hospital and sending the jumper back then why did he? He had to own up to what he did. But George still knew that he couldn't bring that up again. His heart hurt seeing Percy sat there with his eyes, glossy, red-rimmed and vacant.

"Perce?" George called out in a soft voice. It felt as if Percy might snap in half if his voice was any louder.

Percy raised his eyebrow. Sat there in his fifth-year form, he looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

"Merlin, George, couldn't you just shut up for once?" even Ron sounded like he was annoyed at him for being an arse. "You're the only one that cares about that stupid fucking fight anymore," Molly flinched the second that he swore. George's eyes widened. "He _DIED!_ Do you think mum is sat here wondering why he sent back his bloody Christmas jumper?" he then ventured into uncharted territory. "Well, do you think that I'm still hung up about Fred transfiguring my pillow into a spider when we were kids?"

For a second George thought about all the cruel things that Fred had done, even to him. He didn't hold him accountable for a single one of those things. He didn't hold him accountable for being in his shadow always, for never listening to anything that he had to say, for coming up with some of the meaner pranks that had got them into serious trouble.

"It's not the same," George answered. "And don't talk about Fred that way. He…"

"What? He _died?"_ Ron asked hotly, and George wished he could just disappear. "Oh, my bad! Because Perce's been alive all this time! We were just too dense to see it," he knew it was coming the second that he'd said what he did, but it still surprised George by how unapologetic and unforgiving he sounded.

He looked back at Percy, who was quiet. Merlin, the times that you wanted that git to talk, he was silent as a rock.

When he received no comment from Percy, George cleared his throat. "Perce… do you want to talk about it?"

The second he asked that question, Percy let out a snort that could've send shivers down Snape's spine... if he was alive.

"There is nothing left to say," Percy replied back, with as much emotion in his voice as the Minister had when he gave a speech. George seriously doubted that, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Honestly, George, what is the point of telling you anything if you don't care about anything I have to say?" he could practically taste the bitterness in Percy's voice. George wanted to tell him that it wasn't like that, but the words died in his throat. _What's the point?_ George thought to himself. _He knows that you don't mean it._ He could see Percy still clinging onto himself, and it hurt him to see him all alone in a dim-lit corner when there was a room full of people that would give anything to comfort him. But then Percy stood up, and George was transported back into Hogwarts' days. It was like Percy was remembering every prank they'd pulled on him, every mean thing they'd said to him, and every time they'd underestimated him by the way his hands were balled into fists.

George cleared his throat and tried to think of what to say, but—

"You never wanted to listen to a word I have to say. Except now, where all you care about is your pathetic closure," Percy snapped at him, his eyes locked on George's face. So far for feeling like he was really getting through to Percy. So far for being on the same page as him…because right now, Percy and he weren't even flipping the same book.

_All you care about is your pathetic closure_, George visibly winced, as he swirled the words in his mind.

"That's not true," George said softly, and Percy just scoffed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard apart from that one joke Bill said ten years ago about a chessboard and a Quidditch ball (George still didn't get it.)

Sure, they'd both said some really awful things throughout the last few days, but what George said just now must've really gotten to him. It was like the second that the fight was even explored, all bets were off! How was that fair? Whatever minute amount of spark that Percy had before extinguished and all that was left was a hollow look to his face, and empty eyes. He didn't defend himself. He didn't look angry, or defensive. He just looked tired and haunted.

"Can… can you at least tell me what I said that was so wrong?" George asked as gently as possible.

George knew it was the wrong thing to even ask the minute he saw Percy just stare at him like he was a hopeless student that he was trying to teach Charms to. Like he wanted to be nice and try to help him with enthusiasm, but he'd just given up. The level of disbelief on Percy's face left George feeling uncomfortable. It was like he asked him to cheat on a Potions' exam.

"Yes! I can tell you! But then you won't like what I have to say. You'll say some hurtful thing to me about how I'm the biggest git in the world," Percy was gritting his teeth as he spoke, furious. His hands were visibly shaking and his eyes were filled with unabashed anger. "And then you'd notice that you'd upset me. By then, you'd feel guilty and then try to alleviate the situation by trying to tell me how sorry you are and that you didn't _MEAN TO_ put me down for the fiftieth time in the last three days! You can tell I don't believe you but ignore it because you don't know what else to say to me."

The cold, calculated look that Percy shot George in that second chilled him to the bone.

"W-w-what's going on?" Bill asked, as he shivered. He zipped up his dragonhide jacket with quivering hands. "It's f-f-f... freezing in here!"

Angelina was rubbing her hands together just to try and get some heat there. "P-P... Percy?" she said as gently as possible.

"Listen to me very, very clearly, George, _YOU_ are here because a stupid, stupid part of me does not want you to go through your life wondering what happened to me," Percy answered back. Even bundled up in a jumper, Ginny was shivering from how cold the room was. George swore his nose had solidified to stone. "But I promise you that this does not change anything between us, or our arrangement. When this story will end, you will disappear and walk out of my life and leave me alone like you promised. I never want to see you. I don't want to hear about you. I don't want you visiting me. I don't want anything from you… alright? So just shut up and listen to what I have to say to you, because this is the _LAST_ thing I'll ever say to you... c-considering you were so kind as to burn the first thing I sent you eight years ago!" The level of loathing in Percy's voice really made George feel quite ill.

"Perce, I—" George was hyperventilating and felt warm and clammy but also cold and pale. He'd never seen Percy so furious in his life.

Percy cut him off. "I don't want your apologies!" he said hotly. "I don't want anything from _YOU!"_

George was almost paralysed with fear. Percy just stared at him, lips into a thin, tight line. George nodded numbly. Percy was really losing his patience and the less things were going his way, the more he looked like he'd toss him outside without a second thought. _It's what you did to me! Toss me out like rubbish and forget about me,_ George's inner Percy shrieked at him. _It's only fair I do the same to you._

"W-w-what is he saying?" Ginny called out in annoyance. She was now sat on the bed, wrapped up in the duvet with Molly right beside her. "G-George, it... j-just dropped about ten degrees! Aren't you going t-to... s-say anything?" What was George supposed to say? That Percy really hated them? That he really meant what he said about throwing the lot of them out and shutting the door behind him?

"I'll... I'll t-t-tell you later," George flippantly replied, eyes fixed on Percy. "P-Perce? Um…c-can you tell me the rest of the story?"

George finally felt the colour come back to his face. The room went back to being comfortably warm, and Bill unzipped his jacket after a few minutes. Charlie was still rubbing his arms. George couldn't believe how blue Arthur and Ron had gone in the last few minutes, and how warm and flushed he and Ron were. That was the scariest thing that George had ever seen Percy do!

"Percy?" Molly's voice was warm and comforting, even though she still looked like a frostbite victim. "George, what have you said?"

"Nothing," George said stiffly, shaking his head. His family tossed him a look of disbelief. It was like there were in two different worlds. George cleared his throat, and waited for Percy to start speak Behind him, George heard Bill sigh and it looked like one of defeat. Oi, let him be the one that had to talk to the dead prat and see how he got along!

* * *

THE feelings of inadequacy that Percy had after the fight left him only barely capable of doing his allocated work for the day. He was one of the last people to enter the building (on time) and one of the first people to leave. Meanwhile, his pregnant girlfriend did thirty-six hour on-calls and manage to still do yoga in her spare time and go for runs. Percy could barely get out of bed without Hermes shrieking in his ear because he'd been tossing her muggle alarm clocks everywhere. His excited demeanour about work, which defined him, was ebbing away. Every time it was reignited because of a project, he felt a stabbing betrayal instead. This was the very thing that had drove him away from his family, the very thing that his siblings had made fun of him all his life, the very thing that somehow made him a git. He picked up a couple of books when he was seven because there was nothing else to do and suddenly, he'd become the family prat and he had no say in it at all.

How was it fair that he was so unapproachable just because he happened to like to follow the rules? Somehow, that made him every bad thing under the sun except for a Death Eater, and he was sure he'd once overheard Ron telling the twins that he wasn't sure if he'd let something as little as being a Death Eater stop him from achieving his dreams.

With family that believed in you like that, you really could do anything you put your mind to! And they really believed that they supported him. Yes, he was feeling really supported. Just a few days ago, he'd been accused of not working hard enough to be promoted when he used to come back home at three in the morning, staggering into the Burrow like he'd just just downed down a bucket of firewhiskey. The sheer exhaustion left him uncoordinated and there were days he'd gone to bed, realising he hadn't even had the time to shower the whole day (disgusting, he realised). There were days where he ate biscuits on his desks when writing up reports because he couldn't spare twenty minutes just to go down to the canteen and eat a sandwich like a regular human being. But no, the great Arthur Weasley with his perfect important job with muggle toys, thought that Percy couldn't have possibly done anything to warrant a promotion because of Crouch's investigation. Merlin forbid that Percy accept the job, because he was obvious too dim to figure out whether or not he was being used without a friendly warning from his father!

Why did he bother telling him? It waasn't out of concern that was for sure. He could run himself dead with his job and Arthur would probably be the last to know about it. For all their faults, at least Crouch and Fudge had the decency to listen to what he had to say. At least in his job, he was _someone_ whose opinions mattered because it wasn't like anyone in his house was ever going to listen to anything he had to say.

* * *

George really thought that all of this was unnecessary to even say, but Percy was ranting off like he was relieving this right then and there. Like it was just yesterday when he had these strong, negative feelings towards their own father. When George caught Percy's eyes after he finished that last sentence, Percy looked almost surprised by how dark his thoughts still were. He obviously didn't know how much blame, anger and pain he felt towards their relationship with their father anymore, and how could he? He spent years living alone by himself, and George was sure that was partly the reason for why he felt so justified in what he'd just rattled off with reckless abandon.

Instead of commenting on that, Percy wrapped his arms around himself and looked away. That seemed to be his favourite thing to do. It was about as mature as Ron throwing Hugo's dirty nappies on his dinner plate because he couldn't be bothered to get up, but it was all he seemed to do. Refuse to maintain eye contact and hope that George would stop judging him for being an arsehole.

_Perce, you can't unload all your hatred onto us, kick us out and expect us to deal with it for the rest of our lives_, George wanted to tell him, but he stayed quiet still. George really hated him for that. He resented Percy for staying quiet when he'd just bad-mouthed his whole family in less than two seconds. _Do you know how much mum and dad will take this to heart? It'll kill them! And you don't have to live with it, but they do! So, why are you saying all of this? Why can't you just be like a regular dead person and talk about how mum and dad were the nicest people ever and how they shouldn't blame themselves for your death?_

Arthur tossed a look over at Ron, who just flushed deeply. Arthur looked like he was really being hard on himself. He probably had thought about that fight a million times over in his life, especially in the last three days. He could see an exhaustion in his father he hadn't even seen when Fred died in front of them! George imagined he'd regretted so much of what he'd said. The thought of Arthur staying up at night, replaying the fight in his mind, left him really livid. Did you know how horrible this was? George couldn't even remember what either of them said anymore! Just that the fight was intense enough to cause a rift between their family that somehow a war couldn't bring together. And he just felt so much fury that Percy was distilling so much guilt in their parents... what for? He could visibly see that they already blamed themselves. What was the point of dragging them down through the muck? It wasn't like it was going to give Percy any satisfaction other than the satisfaction of being a chronic victim.

_And why shouldn't he be cruel to everyone? Do you really expect him to tell you all the good memories that he had now that he passed away alone? Do you want him to relieve the good old days when you didn't know that he was gone for years?_ Another part of George asked. What kind of a fight was worth anyone's life? If that fight didn't happen, Percy would've never been like this! How could he be?

* * *

The guilt buried him alive, and his limbs felt so heavy and stiff all the time. When Penelope came back from a run still clad in her jogging trousers, Percy felt an exhaustion weigh him as if he'd come back from a run. He felt like he was trying to breathe underwater most of the time. Every moment of every day, he craved the affection of someone else so badly. How was he supposed to take care of another human being when all he wanted was for someone to take care of _him?_

When he was sat there drinking a coffee by himself at eight in the morning on his day off, Percy heard Penelope slam the door as she walked in. In a whole week, the love and affection that she had for him over years had turned to disdain.

"This is why your family can't stand you, Percy," Penelope said hotly, throwing a plastic pink bag on the chair as she walked in. She had been telling him this all week, and Percy hadn't said anything back all week. "At least get off your arse and do something!" when she yelled at him, he flinched, and looked away from her. "What is wrong with you?"

What was wrong with him? A woman that loved him couldn't live with him for more than a week without hating him. His whole family, some of the most pleasant people to get around with, couldn't stand him. Maybe he had been wrong all along. If everyone had the same assumption about him, then he supposed that maybe he was the one that was wrong all along. But how could he admit that to himself? Percy knew he couldn't change his personality. _Difficult to love and impossible to be around_, Penelope used to describe him yesterday evening. And she was right.

Sometimes, he wished that he could go back in time just to figure out how to be a pleasant person to be around. He wondered if he'd just stopped… being so like himself, maybe people would actually like him. If he learned how to shut up for once, maybe people would actually listen to him. Why did he expect people to listen to him? Normal people didn't rattle off every achievement they'd ever done. With how he was like, it was a miracle he didn't tell people that he was the only sibling to master walking before he was one, considering he mentioned just about everything else. If he didn't feel such a compulsive need to organise everything around him, he'd probably even manage to get his siblings to respect him. But how could they respect someone that fainted at the sight of dust? Sometimes, he wished that someone would tell him how not to be such a proverbial stick in the mud.

Well, that lesson would probably start by not using the statement 'proverbial stick in the mud,' Percy scoffed.

Even in school, he was the least liked child, even though he was the only one that had gotten his assignments up before everyone else. McGonagall was more likely to commend Ron's bravery than boast about Percy's intelligence. And all those years that he spent meticulously looking over every detail of his assignments was overlooked because there were probably rocks that had more character than him. It was probably why he tended to levitate towards Snape. He was the only professor that he hated him a little bit less than the rest of his siblings. Even his Advanced Arithmancy professor waved at Ron in the hallway and barely gave Percy a glance when they bumped into the Great Hall—and Ron didn't even take Advanced Arithmancy!

All he had was his mum, and he'd been sorely replaced by Harry Potter in the last few years anyway. And why wouldn't he be? Stupid, boring Percy bloody Weasley.

* * *

Hearing Percy rattle off all those horrible things about himself made George wish he'd go back to throwing all the blame on the rest of the family. George was squirming in his seat uncomfortably and reached for Angelina's hand whilst he was repeating whatever drivel Percy insisted on mentioning. It was like Percy only lived in the absolute extremes. It was either he was most definitely the one that was wrong, or it was everyone else that couldn't see his point of view. It was either he was being the selfish git, or the one that made all the bloody sacrifices. It was either he had a room that was so bare that you could see your reflection bouncing off the surface or he lived in an absolute, disorganised squalor. Honestly, it made George want to smack him in the fucking face.

He wanted to confront Percy about his crazy black-and-white thinking, but when he looked up and saw how depressed he looked like, he went quiet. George was pretty sure that Percy hated himself for what he'd said in the last three days... in the last lifetime, just like George hated himself for the same thing. Merlin, their relationship was more complex than a Potions essay, and George could barely get his head around it. Even Bill, the other bloke with twelve O.W.L's, looked stumped at what he was supposed to do.

"I believe you," Percy suddenly said, breaking George out of his thoughts. "Everything you've said to me, I believe you."

_Believe me? Believe what? That you're a prat?_ George shook his head so hard he felt like it might fall off, like he was one of the Umbridge bobbleheads he and Fred made after Hogwarts. Charmed with an exploding head, complete with its own miniature fireworks display!

"Deep down, I know that whatever you said, whatever accusation you've made about me, I know it's true," Percy said in a near whisper. George provided no answer. It was almost as if George had a particularly massive bezoar stuck in his throat. "You're the only one that could hear me, and you despise me—despite knowing what happened to me. Despite everything that you know. The only two people that could stand me left me here to die. All I had was Hermes, and I killed him. My true, real friend and he's gone because of me."

Percy shook his head, rubbing his eyes before tears even started forming. He probably hated himself for crying so much too, George thought with a pang in his chest.

"I'm horrible," he decided to say, and all George could hear was the sound of Percy giving up, giving up his true convictions because he was tired of fighting against everyone else. "I've been throwing a temper tantrum ever since you've walked into my house because I'm pitiful. I apologise profusely. I apologise for the fact that I have no good reason for why I didn't visit our father in the hospital. I sent back our mum's Christmas jumper out of spite. And the real reason I don't want you to see my body is because even though there is no body, I don't want an investigation to be carried out eight years after my death. I don't want to be known for…for what happened," he admitted. George's ears just perked up.

_What investigation?_ was the first question that George had in his mind, before a realisation came to mind. _Merlin, he can't be serious!_

"Perce, you were telling the truth, weren't you?" George said so softly that he wondered if anyone else could hear him. He could see Ginny stare at him and Molly almost lean into him just to hear what he was saying. "You did starve to death just like you said," he whispered, only for Percy to nod his head. "But someone made you do it on purpose." Then he felt a pang of guilt for what he'd told him, about how he found it highly unlikely that he'd actually have starved to death in this place. _Why?_ George thought to himself. Even if that really did happen, did this look like the house of someone that had their health as their highest priority? This toxic dump would send some disgusting, slimy flobberworms running the other way (well, as fast as they could run.)

When he saw Percy's face twist in recognition, his heart raced. "Who?" George asked, and Percy just shook his head.

Merlin, if that stupid rich pompous git Roger Davies had anything to do with it, he'd kill him in his sleep.

"I don't want to say," Percy admitted, looking away from him, which pretty much confirmed it was one of his 'friends'. Roger, or Penelope, from the sounds of things. Honestly, with friends like that, you really didn't need any bloody enemies. "George, I don't have a corpse anymore. I suppose that's the—_err_—advantages of having so many small creatures invading your home, but…even without a body, just walking into the room, you can tell that something isn't right. You can tell that something horrible happened in that room. There is blood _everywhere _to start and..."

_I don't have a corpse anymore._ Those words echoed into George's mind, because they were truly unsettling. How could you bury a bloody body if there was no body to begin with?

George remembered the bloodied rag downstairs and shuddered. Someone tried to wipe off the blood from his body. Why? If they were butchering him alive, why did they bother trying to keep him from bleeding out? He didn't understand.

"I…I don't understand," George shuddered uncomfortably. "Perce, you don't look like anyone hit you. Well, not in this body, of course…but when we saw you, you were…" _somewhat intact? Didn't look like you've been butchered? Didn't look like someone KILLED you?_ He felt sick.

Percy looked almost amused at George's inner turmoil. "You haven't seen how I've looked like when I died."

"Wait, that was _your_ healthy hoarder look?" George asked, only for Percy to nod his head. The bloody git was serious! Merlin knew how he looked like after he'd 'starved' to death. Probably only took a few hours from the looks of him. "Seriously? Did you manage to get down to the weight that you were at when you were born? Merlin. How did you look like when you croaked?"

Percy smiled weakly at him. "Not for the faint of heart I'm afraid," he admitted. _Or otherwise_, George wanted to say.

Suddenly, he had flashes of that wall collapsing onto Fred and George felt his heart racing in his chest. He tried to imagine someone keeping Fred under that rubble for years, and he literally felt like ripping his heart out of his chest. The thought brought him so much physical pain. He felt bitter every day he remembered that Rookwood was alive and took something so important to him in less than a second. Just the stark realisation that Percy was killed—slowly—by someone that he probably trusted made him feel wrecked. No wonder Percy kept on dodging the ruddy subject every time they bought it up! Who wanted to remember that they were killed and left to rot for eight years? And even if they wanted to launch an investigation, it wasn't like they would find any evidence in this rubbish-infested squalor. He couldn't think of how confident and cocky his murderer had to be if they just left him there to rot, knowing nobody would come looking for him!

"George, do you want to keep us up to speed?" Charlie's voice broke George out of his thoughts. "Today, maybe?"

He waited for Percy to tell him that he didn't want anyone else to know. But he stayed eerily quiet, which was worse than him yapping into his ear the whole day about how he didn't want anyone to clean his house.

_He was killed,_ George kept thinking over and over again in his head. Just like Fred. He was killed slowly. Over ages. Days. Maybe even weeks. _And nobody knew, or even thought about it… No wonder he hates the lot of you! _Even if they wanted to launch an investigation—which Percy didn't want them to, what would it be based on? A ghost that only George could possibly see? What an absolute joke.

To break the uncomfortable silence that they were in, Percy cleared his throat. "So, Penelope confronted me," he continued in a tired, calm tone. "And all I could say is..."

* * *

"I don't know," Percy answered back, his voice quiet. "I… I apologise," he felt so guilty. How was he so self-centred that even knowing that he was going to have a child was not enough to pull him out of this depressive slump?

"You… apologise…" Penelope echoed mockingly, and then she just shook her head. _"Percy!"_ her voice was pained.

He flinched, because the way that she said his name left him wishing that he was anywhere else but there. She sounded so disappointed in him. He could count on his hand the number of times people were truly disappointed in him.

"Yes?" Percy's eyes were locked onto Penelope's face, as she leaned up to him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Um…"

Penelope huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. He could only imagine how intimidating she'd be as a healer. He was with her for all of eight seconds and he was wondering why he hadn't take his potions. And he didn't even take any regular medicinal potions to begin with!

"I…" Penelope dropped her hands to her side, and then sighed deeply. "I love you," she said softly.

Percy felt his heart do a series of strange flips that he'd only seen a Chaser do in the Quidditch World Cup just to show off.

"But this… this isn't _YOU_, Percy!" Penelope yelled, looking so frustrated. "I understand that they belittled, mocked and laughed at you, but I never have! I have never looked at you and thought less of you than you are. And…and I miss you! I miss the person that I fell in love with! You're here all the time, but it's almost like you're _not_… and it's not fair…"

As she ranted, she dissolved into tears. Her soft sobs reminded him of his failures, his hubris, his selfishness.

Percy just felt a gnawing guilt in his chest. "Penny," her name felt heavy on his tongue. "Penny, I'm sorry."

He held her as she cried, even though he was not very good at this. He didn't know where to keep his hands, but she clung onto him like a first year clung onto their broom in their first flying class.

"I can do better," he promised. "I promise."

And he did. He did do better. He went to work with a dazzling smile that probably made him look closer to Lockhart than Snape. He pressed all of his suits and his Ministry robes looked like he'd just taken them off the rack from the clothing department. He spent most of his nights working and came back home so bone-weary that he couldn't think about this gnawing pain and emptiness in his body every time that he went to bed. He ate with a near mechanical, robotic manner. He ate enough so that she was not suspicious. He slept enough so that he was not collapsing at his job, but inside, the hollow feeling had never left him. Every time he stayed awake; all he could think about was how he'd give anything to stop feeling like he was the worst person in the whole world.

Sometimes late at night, he kept wondering how it would be like just to die. Escape all these expectations that everyone had of him, all of them contradicting one another. If he apologised to his family, he'd lose his job. If he kept this job, his family would continue hating them for all of eternity. If he stayed up late, he'd wear himself out. If he didn't, then he would feel guilty sat there at home with nothing to do but stare at the wall and make small conversation with Penelope.

He felt such a dizzying, shocking unhappiness take him at all times. He spent many nights just wishing he would just die. He had no glossy reports. He had no energy to look at them. What was the point of all of this? He had no family. He had a girlfriend that was oblivious to his self-loathing. What was the point of being alive when you felt like you were so dead on the inside? And the last thing he wanted was a baby. Great. Another responsibility on top of his pending list of things to do that he now had no interest in doing.

* * *

George could barely breathe. It was bad enough knowing that Percy died without thinking about the fact that he was so bloody depressed. _What? You thought he was happy with himself, hoarding all this rubbish and closing himself into his house?_ George thought to himself. But it was different hearing it out loud, hearing Percy mention how his interest for the things he did just happened to dwindle away. He remembered the thoughts that he had after Fred passed. He spent weeks upon weeks, lying in the dark, wishing for death. The thought that Percy had felt that way too made him feel quite sick. And he said it so causally! As if wanting to die was just another thing that happened during the day, next to washing his hair, brushing his teeth and making sure that he brushed up on his How to Be A Prat manual before he went off to work!

"Um…is anyone hungry?" George got up to his feet, his hands shaky. "I'm... I'm starving." Well, he didn't know if he was, but he hadn't eaten in some time.

Bill cleared his throat. "Come on," he nodded off towards George, looking at Charlie. "Let's go get something to eat for everyone." But he had a feeling that Bill and Charlie were about to corner him and find out. And George didn't know how long he could really keep it to himself that Percy's death had been awaiting an Auror investigation for eight years!


	8. Close and Distant

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Eight: Close and Distant

* * *

Waiting in line in a busy sandwich shop, George felt panicked and nauseous. He hadn't felt this unsettled since he'd tried to choke down a jam doughnut the morning after Fred's death. Since then, he'd lost a whole stone and a half that he still hadn't managed to put back on—at the time, he'd felt like _he_ was wasting away. After all, he'd never intentionally lost a single pound in his life! But that was before he got an eyeful of dead Percy. He who could probably make a six-stone _Witch Weekly_ model faint. He was a vestige of a vestige of someone that George knew rather than the fourth year he used to steal sugar quills from! George still vividly remembered the days where he would sneak into a sleeping Percy's room at one in the morning. He'd steal the assortment of jewel-coloured quills that he almost always kept neatly perched on his desk. He would then quietly walk back to his and Fred's room. He'd be sat on the bed with Fred's horrific snoring (_I'd give anything to hear that again,_ George thought sullenly), and then he'd suck the sugar right off them. He'd return them an hour later, only to see Percy toss and turn in his sleep. He used to wonder what he'd dream of—he still did, that left him so unsettled that he was never going to know these things. Things like what Percy dreamed of, what shops he really liked and what his favourite Quidditch team was. George had always assumed he'd been having nightmares about a report he needed to do! Knowing Percy at the time, he probably was. But still, he digressed.

George smiled weakly thinking of the quills again. Given the amount of quill-licking Percy did (sugar or otherwise), he was pretty sure he'd ended up tasting more of George's spit than he did of Penny's.

As George thought about the older days, he felt a pang of pain fill his very soul. It was cold, heavy and aching—kind of like the buttercream that he and Bill used to coat their Victoria sponges with. Percy used to eat icing by the _cupful_. It was to imagine that third year Percy, who'd packed on a stone in three months, ended up being so... like _this_.

All it took was a few days with Percy, and all these buried emotions and memories came to surface faster than a Bludger to the head. He hadn't felt so many emotions in such a long time that he'd forgotten how it was like to feel so much. In the past few days, George had been more emotionally wrecked and confused than he had been the first few moments of Fred's death. At least with Fred, there was a war. They knew, under some subconscious level, that Fred could _DIE_. That they could've really lost Harry, or one of their brothers or their sister. He'd seen it happen in front of his very eyes and a part of him had grown to accept it. But with Percy? It was like surviving a flood and accidentally drowning in the bathtub.

His death was so unwarranted and anticlimactic that it even depressed him! What was that all about?

How could you be slaughtered in your own home when the most exciting thing about you was that you owned a shiny old Prefect badge that you probably lost in the bloody mess you call a home? When the most threatening thing about you was the fact that you could write long-winded letters? When you were afraid of flying a broomstick? When you were so unremarkable that your own family didn't even notice that you were gone for _YEARS?_ George's chest ached with a stabbing pain. Honestly, even Moaning Myrtle's death made much more sense than his. And she died in a toilet.

Who in Merlin's name would kill an agoraphobic hoarder? Why would anyone risk being chucked into Azkaban for Percy's death?

"Let me make this very clear," Bill's voice pulled George out of the thoughts that he'd been having. "When we return, you will stop having these one-sided conversations with Percy, do you understand? Whatever it is that happened that—"

George cut Bill off when he suddenly burst into tears. He had a hard time dealing with Percy's death and he could see him! What about the rest of his family? He probably looked like he was talking to his own imaginary friend.

The whole shop stared at him. Great. Just what the sandwich shop crowd wanted! A redhead having a mental breakdown whilst you were trying to decide between the three different kinds of baguettes that they had to offer. He felt Charlie's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. He didn't deserve their compassion after the disaster that was the last few days. Charlie looked at him with a look so kind that it made him feel like such an arsehole for keeping them out of the loop. George shut his eyes as tightly as possible, biting his lip down. "Bill, Percy… P-P-Perce said that he was _killed_. He said that's how he died. That someone purposely made sure that…I don't know—that he didn't eat?" Even saying it out loud, it didn't sound real, but when he was alone with Percy and he saw the pain in his eyes as he relieved the horrifying circumstances surrounding his death, it just seemed so plausible.

"But he won't tell me who killed him! I… I don't get it. Why would someone kill him?" George's vision was blurred with tears. "And if it's really true, then why the hell won't he tell me who did him in? What for? Why would you protect someone that _ENDED_ your life? And who would even do something like that to him?"

George shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't even say it was a rather intense dispute with strangers. "He doesn't have any neighbours! He lives in _NOWHERE!_ Nowhere!"

At the sound of him shrieking, everyone in the shop tossed stared at him. Well, maybe he could've been a little quieter…

"_HEY!_ It's that bloke over from that-that shop that ruined Roger Davies' book signing!" he heard someone shriek and then looked up to see some old crook that just reeked of Eau De Prat. He was clutching what looked to be a fat-free avocado and tomato toastie that was absolutely crammed with more plant than a Herbology greenhouse. Merlin, how did Percy end up with a personality like this absolute git? How mucked up did you have to be to grow up, not wanting to do a single fun thing ever anyway? "He's talking about a _MURDER_ that happened! I…I haven't seen one of those in ages!" And why did he say that like he missed them?

_"Mr Weasley!"_ cried a lady's voice afterwards. That couldn't be him, could it? George was not a Mr Weasley. He was barely a Mr George as it was, much less a Mr Weasley. "What murder are you talking about?"

George was indecently assaulted by mounds of papers flying in all directions. There was more chatter in the shop now than there was in that Quidditch game where Harry was tormented by Dementors. Before he could process it, quills being pulled out faster than he… well, he had a performance problem, alright? Give him a break. He lost his twin. George stared at the scene before him in disbelief. Merlin, did all those gits at _The Daily Prophet_ take their lunch break at the same time? Skeeter's clones were looking at him with big, glassy eyes and excited expressions of wonder and intrigue. They looked like werewolves that hadn't eaten in days. But all George could do was stare back at his older brothers. "Do you believe him?" he whispered. "Do you?"

Bill just stared at George with confused eyes. "George," his voice was calm, but you could see how full of bloody rage he was. "George, what did you do?" he asked, as he watched reporters everywhere writing down information. Were reporters really going to know about the circumstances surrounding Percy's gruesome death before their own mum? Was he really going to let Percy forever be known in the wizarding community as that one Weasley that disappeared for a decade and died without anyone _noticing?_ George was in so much pain that he couldn't think straight. Oh, and he was a moron!

"Mr Weasley, what is this about a murder?" a voice said from behind him, followed by whether he'd like to comment on how he'd destroyed Roger Davies' signing and if he was going to have any kids! Sod off! He thought he only had to answer that question to his own mum, but now, he was being swarmed by everyone and he felt like he was about to suffocate.

"George," Charlie's voice was stern. He was disappointed in him either way, and George found himself spilling words that he didn't even know that he was thinking about! To a bunch of arses that had quills that wrote faster than he thought!

George cleared his throat. "Roger Davies probably murdered my brother!" he said, and realised that he was a bloody fool. Did he really just claim that the author of one of the most popular books in the last decade had murdered his brother? For what? "That git was his friend and he just left him in his house to die with his rubbish! You know, Percy? _Percy Weasley?"_

"Who?" one of the reporters asked, looking at the other one with a puzzled look. Merlin, that would've killed Percy.

That one brother that did everything right but made one mistake about a million years ago that George for some reason couldn't forgive him for. That one prat that spent hours shining his Prefect badge that now let layers of dust collect in his house to give it character and personality. That one git that spent his whole life listening to authority because he thought that it was going to get him places. Well, it did, George thought. But he doubted that a house where he died and decomposed in was what a hopeful fifth year Percy had in mind when he got his O.W.L results.

Bill and Charlie stared at him like he was mental as they grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the shop. They barely made it out before they'd apparated him back to Percy's house almost instantly. A wave of nausea hit George.

"What the _HELL_ was that?" was the first thing that came out of Charlie's mouth. "What are you trying to do?! Get reporters to try to take pictures of his house and plaster it all over _The Daily Prophet?_ Is that how you want everyone to think of Percy as? As someone that was so mentally ill that he hadn't left his house for a decade? As someone that was left to rot alone in a house after everyone left him? As someone that could've been…could've been m…m..."

As Charlie panted, he clutched a hand on his chest as if he was about to have a heart attack. As if, Mr Salads for Lunch.

"What's going on? What is this about reporters?" George was surprised to hear Arthur speaking.

Arthur was stood by the door, looking at how the paint was chipped off the door handle. In his hands, there was a Ministry eviction notice that he'd probably read about a million times because he'd underlined some things on it. Like it was a Potions essay that he had to hand in to poor ole Snape before eight in the morning. You could see in his eyes that he'd been bloody miserable for a long time. That he hated and blamed himself. George was sure that the minute that Fred died, the light went out in the family and as hard as they tried to pretend like his absence didn't affect them, the more it did. It was the ultimate joke. _Ha ha,_ George thought sometimes, feeling his heart rip out of his chest. _You got me, Fred. Now, can you please just come back home?_

"George told some reporters that Percy was killed by Roger Davies," Charlie replied, dumbfounded. "They used to be mates!"

"What kind of mate would leave you to die alone in your house?" George snapped back, but then his mind was swirling with thoughts. What kind of mate? What kind of family did the same? Not just him, or Charlie, or Bill, but all of them. Not a single one of them had reached out to the git to see if he was still breathing in the last decade. They might as well have killed him too.

Bill shook his head in disbelief. "You think that the writer of a famous book forced Percy starve to death? For what?" well, when he said it like that, it didn't sound like it was very likely. "What for? What kind of disagreement could those two have that was so bad that it led to one murdering the other for, George? _YOU…TELL…ME!"_

"I don't know!" George yelled back, hands shaking. "Don't you think that it's weird? Roger knew about Percy being ill! What kind of an arsehole would leave you alone in a house like when you knew? At least call psych and let them throw him in the loony bin if he was going to keep on collecting rotten rubbish like Vic collects chocolate frog cards!"

Bill went silent, but he dropped his shoulders. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stayed quiet.

The paper in Arthur's hands crumbled, and he looked at them like he'd been slapped in the face. _"What do you mean that he was killed?"_ he remembered hearing Arthur use that tone when he shouted out Rookwood's name straight after Fred's body went cold. It was so poignant and striking that it made George feel as unsettled as he did when he saw Percy's bright blue eyes glowing against his grey, ashen skin. "What do you mean that his best mate killed him?"

Bill stiffened. "Dad, we didn't…we…" he stammered. "George is just making it up! Bloody imagination of his…it's fine when he was making up recipes for Canary Creams but now, he's gone off with these inane conspiracy theories about how Percy died!"

Arthur's eyes hardened as he looked at George. He felt like his hands went clammy and cold. George felt dirty in these clothes, even though he'd already showered a few hours back. But he was sweating like he'd been chasing after a Bludger. "George, did Percy tell you that the writer of the _Even More Fantastic Beasts_ series killed him?" he asked incredulously.

He stayed quiet. But Arthur just kept his gaze locked on George's face. _"Well?"_ Arthur called out hotly.

George stiffened, realising how batty that made him sound. "He said he was killed, Dad," he whispered. "I just…who else would do it? The only two people that saw him was his girlfriend and his best friend! Why would Penelope Clearwater make him starve to death? Unless you don't think that he was murdered… you do think that, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence between everyone. Arthur looked so disgruntled.

"He said that he'd been killed?" Arthur asked, and George just nodded his head firmly. "Killed," he echoed dully.

George just stared at him. What was he supposed to say to that? What was any of them supposed to say? He just fidgeted in his place. He felt so queasy and his stomach was so empty that all this acid was coming up to his throat. Lucky him!

"George, I just found out three days ago that one of my sons starved to death eight years ago," Arthur told him, slowly. George felt a chill go down his spine. "And now you're telling me that he was _murdered?_ That…that someone hated him enough to kill him in such a horrible, horrible way and they'd gotten away with it?" you could hear the amount of regret that he had in his voice. You could see it in his eyes. George knew that he would give anything just to be able to turn back time. Well, he could, but he couldn't exactly change the course of time without changing the whole of history. But that was a discussion for another day.

Charlie just shook his head. "We're all going to talk. Mum, dad, me, Bill, Percy, you, Gin, Ron," he finally said stiffly. "_All_ of us. And no more one-sided conversations with Percy, do you understand? I'm sick of you two fighting about Merlin knows what! I'm sick of you giving us the short end of the broomstick just because we can't see or hear him!"

George nodded his head numbly. "Okay," he said quietly. He'd already mucked up. _The Daily Prophet_ might run a paper on Percy's life in the next few days, and George didn't want to be the one to show Percy what they thought about him!

As he got into the house, he thought about the sandwich shop. It felt so strange, almost empty, to see a shop that was so clean and pristine. It even left this feeling of uneasiness when he noticed how much bloody space there was. Was this how Percy felt like when he didn't have mounds of rubbish piled on top of each other? Had the git somehow convinced himself that he wasn't alone as long as he had ten packages of unboxed nose-biting teacups? Percy didn't even use joke products, but he'd found hallways stacked with more Zonko's products than he and Fred hoarded in their room growing up! Why would Percy hoard Acid Pops and boxes of manky-looking moonstone powder for? How could that fulfill him?!

When he walked back into the room, Percy was sat in between his mum, Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione. Hermione was rattling off about Ministry regulations. Harry and Ron looked sleepier the more Hermione drawled on. Percy, who probably used to be listening very intently, suddenly sat up. "Can you make her stop?" Percy asked him.

After that, they left together to go back to the Burrow for lunch. There they inhaled baked bean and cheese wraps with chips on the side. George hadn't realised how hungry he was until he started eating and he found himself spooning lemon yoghurt straight out of the fridge even though he absolutely despised yoghurt. It didn't seem like he was the only one. He found Bill in a carbohydrate coma just a few seconds later, asleep on the couch after he inhaled a whole box of Pixie Puff cereal bars!

Arthur took the rest of them upstairs to talk and George had a feeling it had something to do with the startling revelation that Percy was murdered in cold blood. George sat in a loveseat, staring at the clock. His own handle wasn't pointing to _Home_.

As Hermione came down the stairs after tucking Hugo into his cot, George felt his heart ache even more.

This place felt like a home all these years, but suddenly, it felt so empty without all of Percy's rubbish stuffed everywhere. George had lost the ability to imagine how Percy was like before he was ill, even though it had only been a couple of days. He tried to remember long summer holidays where he'd find Percy taking a nap on the couch, with his cheeks flushed red from the heat outside. He tried to remember Percy sat on the table, reading a book as he wrapped himself in hefty blankets. He tried to remember Percy sitting outside with his owl, trying to avoid their pranks as he hid underneath the biggest, oldest tree they had around the woods near their home and sat down to organise his life. George even remembered waking up at two in the morning, and Percy telling him to go to bed. He used to be so frightened to death of that gigantic, frizzy untamed mane that he had that he hadn't even questioned what in Merlin's name _he_ was doing up so late too!

Reminiscing, George didn't even really notice when Ginny and Ron sat down beside him.

"Bill told us," Ron finally said, and George didn't have to ask about what. He already knew. What else would he talk about? He supposed the whole finding out that your brother was murdered thing set him off. "Harry and I will look into it. We promise. And we want to promise him that we will. I don't know if it's true what you think. That Davies killed him but…but if he did…"

Ginny nodded his head firmly. "We promise," she added on, as if George hadn't heard it the first time.

George closed his eyes, trying to think about the decisions he'd made in the last few days. Merlin, he was such a fucking train wreck. "I don't think Percy wants anyone to think about him like that," he couldn't believe that the whole of _The Daily Prophet_ knew that Percy had been killed in his house. He doubted that he could ward off an investigation about the person that killed him if he'd wanted. And George just decided that it had to be that bastard that he couldn't stand! Well, if he was wrong, he'd look like the stupidest Weasley ever to weasel his way out of perilous situations. And if he was right…well…

"Oh! Really?" Ron feigned a look of complete shock. "Well, I see you've been honouring that! Talking to _The Daily Prophet!_ Do you know what they're going to do now? They're somehow going to dig up where he lives and take pictures of his house. Then they're going to run a whole section about how Harry Potter's brother-in-law lost all his gobstones! Instead of being known for cauldron-fucking-bottom reports, he's going to be known as that git that died in his home and nobody cared! Do you think that's how he wants people to remember him as? As someone that nobody gives a toss about?"

"Well, that's _our_ fault, isn't it?" George snapped back, and then the room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Tearful and sobbing softly, Ginny nodded her head, and then moved to place her hand on George's. George, for a moment, did not feel like the biggest arsehole on the planet for all the fights that he'd had with Percy. He was also an arse for making Ginny cry too. A few minutes into his self-hating spiel, he'd calmed down. He didn't realise that he'd been anxious for the past few days, and that his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. Lovely. How could a joke shop owner feel like he was about to have a heart attack any second?

"I just don't understand why they'd kill him," George admitted, shaking his head in disbelief. He then realised that he really did believe Percy. It was a lot easier than digesting the fact that maybe Percy killed himself all along. That he'd just been unhappy. "Why would you risk being sentenced to Azkaban for killing someone that doesn't even leave the house?"

"Why would he lie about it?" a voice said from behind him. George looked back. Hermione was stood there with her arms crossed over her chest. "It seems counterproductive to lie about murder when you're already dead, don't you think? And we never asked Moaning Myrtle or Nearly Headless Nick to give us their death certificates to prove how they died."

He doubted Percy had a death certificate. People needed to know that you died before you got one of those. "He does get something out of it," George said in a really quiet voice. "If it was a murder investigation and it made it on the papers, Aurors would've looked into it. People would actually remembered him. They'd know about him, even if it was in such a… such a horrible way to remember someone. But it's just…you're right. Percy would rather someone just forget all about him than be remembered like that," at least he thought so. Did he even know Percy anymore after all the time that they spent apart? It made him shudder, thinking about it.

Arthur and Molly barely talked to the rest of them. They were back into Percy's house before five in the afternoon. George was surprised to find Angelina still in her pyjamas with Percy. She was flipping pages of an old, tattered photo album with him and he was staring, transfixed.

She was eating caramel popcorn out of packets and had a gigantic salted caramel block of Honeyduke's right next to her. She kept alternating between the two, pointing at different pictures to him and talking about what she thought was going on in his life at the time. Looked like even Percy was swooning over how good she was, even with a ghost that she couldn't even see or hear. George thought that it was pretty incredible of her. Percy's eyebrows were knitted as if he was trying to catch up on his Charms moments before an exam.

He tried to imagine _The Daily Prophet_ taking copies of some of the pictures that Percy had, where he was sunken-eyed and deathly. He shuddered at the thought. When you had literally nothing to lose, wouldn't you lie about the circumstances leading up to your death too? Nobody wanted to die an unremarkable death. If Percy had just gone so mental that he'd accidentally neglected himself to the point of death, it might make for a very sad death but not less sad than the thousands of people that were killed during the war. A violent death such as murdering an agoraphobic hoarder was worthy _Daily Prophet_ news… especially considering he was the son and brother of war heroes. Was Percy desperate enough to lie about the circumstances surrounding his death?

"You're very lucky," was the first thing that Percy said to him, but George could hear how sad he was. He probably wanted to be at the stupid wedding that he'd never been invited to—not that he would've attended, mind you. "She's absolutely wonderful, and honestly, George, you should feel extremely privileged to have someone this understanding."

George nodded his head. "I do," he honestly meant it too. She was the person that kept him afloat after Fred's death. She still was. She was his sensible side, even though he never thought that he needed one to begin with! "Hear that, Ange? That's Percy, telling you that I should feel so very lucky and privileged that I have you in my life."

"See? Even he knows that I'm always right," Angelina smiled weakly at him. George smiled back, feeling a slew of Flitterbies form in his stomach.

"What is he talking about, George? Is he _upset?"_ Molly quickly told George as he walked into the room and into the silence they'd settled in. "I'm sick of you two fighting and you making each other upset! I won't let you do it anymore. It's gone too far. You've seen him after ten years in a state as this and you still can't let go of a stupid fight nobody cares about! I am absolutely sick to my stomach, knowing that _I_ don't know what my dead child is saying—and the only one that can communicate with us is-is insistent on clashing with every single opinion that he has! I just can't do it anymore!"

George's cheeks coloured in and Molly realised that her rant wasn't warranted…_well, not yet,_ George thought to himself.

"Oh," Molly then smoothed over the new robes she'd changed to. She looked like an oversized reduced-priced spotty banana. She paused and nodded at the air as if Percy was actually stood there. "Percy… baby," she greeted to nothing in particular. In fact, she was facing away from him and giving Percy her back to boot. "Wherever you are."

Grumbling and talking to George over nothing in particular, they eventually all sat down in a weird neat little circle. Angelina even lit up a candle (George couldn't tell you why if he tried. Besides that it looked nice), and Percy's eyes even lit up. He probably hadn't had a reason to light anything in ages. He cupped the candle and had it balanced on his knee for a while, just smelling the deep tones of vanilla and wood. It was obviously one of Penelope's thousand collection of candles. As he inhaled the scent again, Percy opened his eyes and then he started to tell his story again. You know, if this was one of those muggle films, that would probably have a really deep and meaningful reason, but he doubted Percy had a reason besides lusting after vanilla pound cake!

* * *

KNOWING that he had a baby really didn't hit him until after he was out on lunch one day with the Minister of Magic. Most people said that it wasn't until they heard their baby's first heartbeat, or when they'd seen their spouse balloon to the size of a small hippogriff. But of those things had already happened and he was about as moved as Ron was during a musical symphony. Of course, he'd made a colossal fool of himself, trying to fake his interest in his own child when he was about as interested in their development as Fred and George were about taking their exams.

It happened on a Tuesday lunch. The Minister had invited him for lunch, and it would be rather rude to say _no, I've got a bunch of gummy trolls sat somewhere in my desk!_ So Percy found himself eating his lunch at a slightly more upscale restaurant that he was used to (read: Ministry Munchies.) The Minister was sat across from him, drinking wine and using napkins that were softer and more delicate than Percy's duvet. When it was time to order, he tried to be refined by ordering lamb that he couldn't even afford. As he sighed in distress, he heard the sound of a baby crying a few tables from him.

An irritation filled him almost instantly. Who bought a baby to where the Minister of Magic dined?

Both the couple that was taking care of the baby had left him alone in the pram. He'd seen the bloke leave for a smoke (he doubted his wife knew about it). His wife had the smallest bladder that Percy had ever seen because she'd gotten up to use the washroom about two times already and they hadn't even had bread yet! As Percy tried to decide which kidney he was going to sell to pay for this lunch, the baby's wails increased. Diners everywhere were looking at the abandoned baby, disgruntled and upset. It was as if it was they'd heard of this uncouth eight-pound creature!

Getting up from his seat, Percy passed by the shiny-looking pram, which cost more than his whole flat. It probably had more features than the new Firebolt. Pity that he was being left alone. Percy's eyes met with the baby, and it stopped shrieking violently almost instantly.

Her big green eyes met with Percy's judgmental blue ones. Then she laughed at him! The gall of her, just like every other woman that he knew. Percy opened his mouth to speak, but he found himself lost for words. Everyone under the sun hated him, but for some reason, this baby was transfixed by him, staring at him with an adoration he didn't even know someone else could give him. Percy was so stunned that he didn't even notice someone coming to him.

_"HEY! THAT'S MY BABY!"_ a man shrieked into his ear and Percy jumped up, knocking a whole bottle of wine off a cart. A bottle of very expensive wine that he couldn't possibly pay for. And to boot, Percy didn't even like wine! "What are you doing? Are you stealing my baby? I've heard all about you, you thieving baby…parent…things that lost their baby! And now they hate everyone else for having babies when they can't! I know your type! I've read...I've read that _Disgruntled Fathers_ from Flourish and Blott's!"

"I didn't lose my baby!" Percy shrieked back, his hands shaking. "My girlfriend hasn't even popped it out yet!"

Just as he squeaked out that reply, he'd been socked in the face by a bloke that was about two times lighter than him. _LIGHTER_. How embarrassing!

His glasses flew straight off his face and landed into a mysterious-looking bowl of corn chowder.

Percy managed to escape before the second blow. He'd retrieved his glasses, and then apologised to the old coot that cursed him and his family. He then returned back to the Minister who was staring agape at him. Between them were two dishes of braised lamb on something called polenta that looked kind of like orange-coloured baby food. As he sat down across from the Minister with his eye throbbing in pain (and later, he discovered was black), he smiled sheepishly.

"Um…um…" Percy was wondering if he could siphon the wine into his wand and repair the bottle through spells. Of course, it was on the floor, but Penelope wouldn't know about it (not that she can have any until after the baby was born). "Thank you for having lunch with me, Mr Minister."

Fudge took a bite out of his lamb and chewed thoroughly, saying nothing. Percy took a mouthful of his food, which tasted both dry and overly rich. As he chewed his rather sad-looking piece of lamb, Percy wondered how fast he could scarf down a cheese-and-onion pasty on his way back to the office because the only way that this was going to satisfy him was if the lamb was breaded and deep-fried in his mum's kitchen, and if the polenta was a mountain of cheesy mashed potatoes.

"I think that…I can make do without an assistant," Fudge finally said, and Percy felt his heart thump. Was this him and Fudge breaking up? Was he getting sacked? He hadn't been prepared for this. It was all so sudden! He was going to have a baby. How was he going to pay for all these baby things? He'd already seen how nice a pram was supposed to look like! It was nothing like that deathtrap his mum raised Ron and Ginny on. "For an hour. You should get to St Mungo's and get someone to look at that eye."

"Oh," Percy didn't expect that, but felt flattered that the Minister cared if his eye fell out of his face from a severe eye infection. But at the same time, he hated that he felt more connected with a man he barely knew than his own father. He hated that Fudge knew that Penelope was pregnant before his own family did. "Thank you, Mr Minister."

Fudge poured him a little of his wine. "Here," he gave him the cup, which Percy was sure was more than one serving of rich red. "Congratulations."

* * *

"He sounds nice," George finally found himself saying after Percy finally gave him a story that didn't want to make him rip his heart out. Percy nodded his head. "You know, for being a crockpot that didn't believe Harry. And for someone that kisses Lucius Malfoy's arse whenever possible, but you know, _besides_ that."

Arthur looked absolutely torn. George bet he'd give anything to have been in Fudge's place that day. To take him to the hospital after he'd been socked by some bloke. To share a glass of wine, even though both of them hated it.

_It wasn't worth the fight._ George could see those words plastered on Arthur's face since he'd found out about Percy's death.

Percy just placed his hand on his lap. "Lucius Malfoy was the one that convinced him to take me. Fudge can be rather gullible—well, I didn't believe it at the time. And Malfoy just did it to mess with our father. He wasn't that keen on me in the beginning, but he grew to like me. I am a pureblood after all," he admitted, only for George to stare at him with surprise. "And it worked. With one job offer, he'd managed to destroy the integrity of our family in a single night. And I've been paying for it ever since." George doubted that Percy was sat there cursing Lucius Malfoy by the looks of things.

Usually, George wouldn't relay any of that to his family, but this time, he looked at them and cleared his throat.

George felt so numb. "Dad, Percy says that Lucius Malfoy was the one that convinced Fudge about the job," he explained, as if that would make a difference. Percy was right, but he didn't look like he wanted to gloat about it.

"Oh. Right." Arthur nodded his head but stayed quiet. What did you say to something like this? He couldn't exactly be angry at a bloke that had rotted away to the point where he had no soul. And even if he was, it wasn't like it was going to change what happened. It wasn't going to bring Percy back from the dead. As much as Arthur wanted it to.

Percy inched closer to their father. He was sat in the middle of the circle, a little closer to his parents.

He grabbed his father's hand. Arthur looked surprised but let Percy hold his hand. George watched Percy slowly smooth his hand over his father's palm. He pulled out his other hand, and a quill came whizzing from downstairs. George watched as Percy slowly scribbled onto his father's hand. It really hit him; with he saw that handwriting that was so unmistakably Percy's. George felt his hands go sweaty as Percy wrote. _I forgave you for that a long time ago_, he wrote.

Arthur kept staring at the words on his palm as if Percy was really going to start to materialise in front of him. He slowly moved his hands to where he thought Percy's face was going to be. Percy caught on because he grabbed his hands and led them to his face. Arthur traced his features: from his unruly hair to his nose to his mouth to his jaw.

"When you died," even saying it out loud was hard for Arthur. "How were you like when you died?"

"When I died?" Percy echoed incredulously and closed his eyes. Then right before his eyes, George watched Percy change. He felt like his heart nearly stopped into his chest. The pyjama top that he was wearing hung so loosely on him that it was in danger of actually slipping off of him. George had a hard time trying to connect to the fact that Percy was human. He looked like a monster more than he looked human, like papery, translucent skin stretched out over bright white bone. George's heart thumped even harder when he noticed that his thin bright red hair was covered in dark, dried blood.

When Arthur reached out to feel for his hand, Percy immediately pulled it away.

"H-hey," George stammered. He was sure he looked like he'd just seen a Dementor show up at his wedding. He grabbed Percy's hand, which didn't feel much of a hand as it felt like an unnerving amalgamation of thick bones and wispy ligaments. "It's okay."

Arthur reached for Percy's hand and looked stunned. "Godric, is… is that _it?" _he asked, looking shocked.

"Dad, he starved to death," George tried to remind him, but even he didn't expect to see him looking so… well, he couldn't even say thin or wasted or any of those words. He didn't even look human anymore. He looked like something else. He looked more of an Inferi than he did an actual human being. Arthur nodded his head mutely as he reached to feel Percy's face. Percy stiffened, but then relaxed. Arthur's hands shook as he dropped his hand down to his shoulder.

"Godric," Arthur reiterated, looking genuinely shocked. George felt the same way. "How long did this take?"

Knowing how Percy looked like before, it couldn't have been more than a few days. A few days of starving, George thought to himself. Sounds like a nice way to go! He watched Percy revert back to a fifth year. His cheeks suddenly became full and rosy and his eyes glistening with colour. Merlin, watching Percy bounce back almost made him think to his now regular fifth year self was startling. This Percy, who probably never saw the scale tip beyond ten stones, looked almost fat.

"Two weeks," Percy admitted, placing his hand on his knee. George felt like throwing up. It made him feel almost guilty for threatening to toss out all of Percy's rubbish. He hadn't had anything go his way—so why did George care so much if he lived in squalor? "I found out only after I'd passed away. I very vividly recall the day that…well, that it started."

"It took him two weeks, Dad," George finally said. Arthur looked absolutely heartbroken.

"It took him two weeks to die?" Arthur echoed incredulously, staring at George. His eyes bulged with a mixture of shock, disgust and horror. Suddenly, all the anger that Percy had displaced to them a while back felt so validated. That meant that if one of them bothered to show up to his house in the two weeks that he was dying, they could've actually saved him. Even the most unmotivated, slimy arsehole would've helped him. So, what did that say about them?

"That's a rather horrible way of putting it," Percy smoothed his lips into a tight line. "Yes, I suppose it did."

Why did they chuck his distress letter into the fire before reading it? George wondered.

George accidentally made a mistake of looking back at his mum, who looked like she was about to lose it. Bill and Charlie looked like they'd been petrified. Ginny looked less healthy than she did when she had Tom Riddle's diary. Ron was gritting his teeth so hard that George was surprised he hadn't managed to break a tooth. Hermione reached over for his hand, but he looked like he wanted to slap it away. Even Harry looked a little green around the gills and he didn't even like Percy. Well, not that he hated him either, but why would _he_ care about his best friend's least favourite brother anyway?

"Percy, I…I…" Arthur was so blue he might as well be a Blueberry-flavoured Bertie Bott's jellybean.

Before Arthur could finish his sentence, Percy grabbed his hand and then pulled it out for him to see. Arthur looked down as Percy smoothed ran his fingers across the lines. _I forgave you for that a long time ago_.


	9. Is Romance Really Dead?

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Nine: Is Romance Really Dead?

* * *

Beyond another revelation that George could barely fucking process, he was feeling fine. No, he didn't care at all about the fact that he couldn't understand what kind of disgusting, horrendous animals they must seem right now, letting him slowly croak in his own house for two weeks without bothering to help him. He wanted Percy to yell at him for it, but he just stayed quiet. George almost missed Percy having a—you know, _personality_. Instead Percy was acting like he was the one that had mucked up by getting himself murdered in his own home. Even though he was fluffed up with splattered freckled cheeks and bright blue eyes, he didn't look 100% like Percy. And George would give anything for him to yell at him again, but he was silent and looked like he'd hated himself for being so awful that he deserved to die in such a terrible way.

Every time one of them called out an apology, Percy just said that it was fine. What was fine about this? George wanted Percy to tell them off. _What would I do with your pointless apology? Is it going to bring me back from the dead? _His inner Percy yelled back at Ron when he'd mentioned that he wished he could've done something. _Oh, come off it, Ron! You helped a whole wizarding world! But you couldn't bear to help me? You let me rot in here instead because you thought I was hard to DEAL WITH?_

"Perce," George watched as Percy stared up to meet his eyes. "What are you doing? What do you mean it's _OKAY_?"

Charlie and Bill straightened their backs and looked at George, but they didn't look like they hated him for what he'd said. They looked like they wanted to ask him the same things but didn't have the bloody balls. Ron nodded his head furiously. "Yes, what do you mean it's fucking okay? It's bloody not… it's-it's _not_," George heard Ron mumble under his breath.

Percy just deflated, as if he had so much more in him to begin with. "What… what do you mean what do _I_ mean?"

_"THIS!"_ George yelled, waving at him in disbelief. Percy didn't even blink at him. He just stared with a sullen expression. "What do you mean it's okay that we let you slowly die in this house, alone, and then not know about it forever? You're acting like if you even _HAD_ a body for us to bury, you wouldn't mind if we start dancing on your gravestone and having a wee on it in the middle of the night! What the hell, Perce? How-how can you act so nonchalant about it?"

Percy had a weak smile. "I didn't know you knew that word either," he said. "My, my, your vocabulary has improved."

My vocabulary, George mocked and reiterated.

"Obviously, it's not okay that I was left here to die a decade ago," Percy told George strictly. "But I honestly meant what I said about forgiving you! A grudge is hard to keep when you're been living alone for ages. I suppose I did yell at you quite a lot when I've come in, but now I've had it out of my system! And if you really want to show your remorse, you will finally do your exams! Now, please accept my forgiveness and be grateful for my inspired attitude or I will be forced to revoke it!"

George flinched and then found himself smiling a little. That did sound like his Percy, their old pre-getting-mad Percy.

"Fine," George finally said. "I'll do one exam, but you get to choose the subject." Knowing Percy, it'll be Potions but—

"What do you mean he doesn't have a _BODY?"_ Molly shrieked, only for George to whisper something about an incest infestation eating up whatever was left of him. Honestly, it was a ridiculous situation. There was nothing left of him! A house filled with rubbish and not a single trace that Percy Weasley ever even fucking existed beyond pictures of a skeleton. "How can he not have a body? What in Merlin's name happened to his body? Did it just walk straight out of the house? Is his mind agoraphobic but his body free of disease? What… what-what did they do to my baby?"

Percy's cheeks coloured in. "Mum, please," he finally said. "You're embarrassing me in—well, in front of George!"

George snorted. Like he found that embarrassing. "Mum, what… whatever is infesting his house _ate_ his body.".

"Ironic considering I've starved to death," Percy finally said, and George tossed a look of disbelief at him.

"Is _that_ supposed to be a joke?" George asked, only for an amused Percy to nod his head. At that moment, he hoped Percy would never say a single fucking joke ever again if that was his level of humour. It was drier than their mum's Victoria sponge! "Did you really joke about the shocking circumstances regarding your death?" he called out in disbelief.

"Well, it _was_ eight years ago," Percy reminded him, raising an eyebrow at him. "Not that I knew before you told me…"

"Is there anything else that you want to tell us, George?" Charlie asked coldly. There was a crack in his voice, even though he tried to keep it as steady as possible. "Any more horrible details you're keeping from us? Maybe that _I_ killed him?"

Percy scoffed. "As if I would've let you," he muttered. "I was not _that_ far gone."

George just shook his head mutely, staring at Percy for a moment. "What about all the things you said before? About how we were the worst people alive and that you were going to throw us out of the house? And that you hate us?"

In his more intense inner temper tantrums, George's inner Percy would've easily likened them to Death Eaters. Well, not all of them. It wasn't like Lucius Malfoy would let his son die alone in a dark room after he'd lost his gobstones! George honestly would've preferred him throwing them out of the house and telling them they were arseholes to _this_.

Percy just shrugged. "I...well, I had a lot of warranted decade-old anger that I had to dispel," he finally said. "Do you want me to continue to repeat a moot point?"

"I want you to…to…" George stammered, shaking his head. "This isn't fair! You…you can't just be over your death!"

"And why not? I already told you what I felt about it. Now, I feel so much better about it. Do I have to continue to be miserable forever?" Percy scoffed. It was the most Percy-like thing he'd done in ages. He looked even mildly amused by what George had said, like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. "I suppose you, too, got the fight conundrum out of your system now and we can just move on like regular people _trying_ to maintain a relationship with each other... or whatever is left of it anyway."

A little grudge over a fight that happened forever ago was not the same as forgetting that Percy died alone in his house.

"Or is there anything else you want to say to me?" Percy asked, rolling his eyes. "Something about how you framed me for breaking Charlie's broomstick all those years back perhaps? He wouldn't talk to me for a whole summer!"

"I doubt Charlie cares about how I broke his broomstick now," George muttered in annoyance. Why was Percy so okay now? He felt so emotionally confused.

Percy smiled weakly. "I suppose not," he decided to say. What was happening? Just a few moments ago, Percy was torn and sad and so unhappy and now, all of a sudden, it was like he'd found a spiritual reason to stay alive. Well, not alive, but...he didn't seem so sullen and hopeless anymore.

George felt like he'd been just been hit by his own Beater's Bat. The pain that hit him was so immense. Percy pulled a few of his curls back, but one lone strand still escaped and framed his face. His glasses looked bigger than usual. In the last few days, he'd seen more sides to Percy than he had in a whole Merlin-forsaken lifetime. And now, he was seeing Percy for exactly what he was. Not self-pitying Percy, or defensive Percy, or rule-abiding Percy—just purely Percy.

"Earth to George!" He was a little more than surprised when he was hit by a piece of flowery-looking sleepsuit.

George took it into his hands and swallowed the lump in his throat. This whole house smelled like a dungbomb recipe gone too potent, but this sleepsuit smelled fragrant. "Perce," he paused for a moment. "What happened to her?"

He paused for a few moments, seeing Percy's face change.

"Your daughter," George finally said. "How is she like?"

Percy smiled weakly. "Well, truth be told, I was hoping that you'd be able to figure out how Molly is…you know, when Angelina had suggested that if…if I was willing to have my house cleaned, I believed that maybe you could _see_ her." He paused and then decided to say, "I hope you realise that this doesn't mean that I'm willing for you to clean my house."

George rolled his eyes. At least he wasn't threatening to throw him out of the house anymore. He looked almost normal.

"Her name is Molly?" George asked. Percy energetically nodded his head. There was a spark in his eyes he hadn't seen in ages. George had seen pictures of his daughter everywhere. Did he watch her start to crawl? Did he see her suddenly be able to walk? Did he see her do her first bit of magic? Did he hear her _laugh?_ "What's she like? Last you saw her?"

"Absolutely horrible," Percy admitted in a light tone. George nodded his head, lapping up the words. "You would've loved her! She was the most troublesome toddler I've ever had the pleasure of dealing with. Almost made you look out of practice!"

Percy crossed his arms over his chest. He'd changed now and was wearing one of his mum's old jumpers. "You sent me dragon dung disguised as Norwegian fertiliser?" he said. "Well, she'd have flung it straight at me as I was feeding her!"

George almost didn't recognise the sound that Percy made for a second. It sounded like he was _happy_.

"She would be nine now," Percy nodded enthusiastically. "Nine years old! Just two years off joining Hogwarts!"

"I _am_ out of practice," George replied. He had no inspiration for any of his joke products. He couldn't think of an original idea if it slapped him in his face. All he could think about was wonder what Fred would've thought of if he was here...yeah, that didn't really help much. But Fred was always the inventor, and George, the follower. He was the one that had to dust off their bloody Charms books just to find out how to work out half of their products in the first place! He offered his mum the sleepsuit. "Look! You can't hate yourself forever, mum. Boring ole Perce named his baby after you! I mean that can't mean that he totally blames you for everything that's happened?"

Ron smirked at him. "I can't believe I missed Percy buying rubbish that was pink and had flowers on."

"Don't _you_ have a daughter named Rose?" Percy responded back, only for George to bite back his laughter.

Molly was smoothing over the sleepsuit. It was so big. Percy probably had a big, fat baby, just like how their mum loved. George didn't know how. Both Penelope and Percy were slim people. "I…I wish you would've told me," she admitted.

Percy looked suddenly so depressed._ Wow, mum, thanks for that,_ George thought. There was a whole minute of silence, and George felt like he was drowning in it.

"Well… um! He's telling you now!" George urged Percy to continue his story. "Right?" Percy rolled his eyes.

* * *

PENELOPE'S pregnancy was driving him absolutely mad, but not as mad as it was driving her. As he continued to spiral into his own hole of self-loathing and depressing, Penelope was far too busy being the moodiest twat on the planet to even notice. It wasn't exactly as if they fought per say, but there was a grudging distaste between them at all times.

Penelope cleared her that one morning. Had she been on call? Post call? He didn't know. "You know, Percy," her voice was colder than the double cream that she'd had in the fridge, might as well be in the freezer. When he'd tried to scoop it out, he broke the spoon. "You can at least _TRY_ not to be such a painstaking disappointment," the words that she said had cut straight through to him.

"Pardon me?" Percy was so stunned. He was just having breakfast! He didn't expect to be berated at six in the morning!

Penelope's eyes were just locked on Percy's face. "You've been lying to me!" she yelled at him. "What happened to the tenacious bloke that I fell in love with? What happened to that fifth year that wouldn't stop talking about all the Transfiguration homework he had to do? Or that Percy that just went straight into the Ministry and ran a whole department on his own? Because you barely do _anything_ now! You came home at _FOUR_ in the afternoon yesterday… an hour before you were supposed to even leave your job! You're…you're just like the rest of them now! You don't care about your stature in the community; you don't care about anything anymore! And I feel so stupid, that I even liked you!"

Percy felt like he'd just been slapped. He was too boring for his family, but too ambitionless for his girlfriend?

"I…I don't feel like myself," Percy admitted. He felt a gaping hole in his chest; the sadness swallowing him whole. "And I am not going to apologise for it. I will not sit here while you berate me! Is our relationship really better than what I've had in my house? My family hate me for all the things that you supposedly love me for! I am not just my career! And I'm sick of people failing to see that. Honestly, Penny, do you really love me? Or do you love the fact that I've been progressing up the ladder ever since I've gotten to the Ministry? If I…if I was still sat as Crouch's assistant, would you even _like_ me?"

Penelope stayed quiet, and Percy had all the answer that he needed. Was that all that he was to her? Really? _You've been lying to me too_, he thought.

"Get over it," Penelope bit back at him. Where was the warmth she had in her when he first came in? When he told her about his job? When he lost his family so that he could take that job because of her? Because of their baby? "Well, since you don't care about your future, you should stay at home and take care of _your_ baby… I hope you don't think I'll be coming home to pump breast milk for her. You'll make do with formula. I hope that's what you've always wanted. Staying at home and feeding your stupid baby. You think your father is bad? You'll be just… just like your mum!"

Percy was insulted. "What is that supposed to mean?" What was wrong with being just like his mum? "It's been than being like you."

"Like me?" Penelope echoed, staring at him with hardened eyes. "Making a difference into the world that we live in instead of changing nappies?"

Percy flinched at the things that she'd said. He used to believe that too. That if he just worked hard enough, he could everyone's lives better... and then they could see it. They could realise that they were wrong about him. That he really was good underneath all this, that he wanted something good for other people too besides checking off a list of achievements! But he was selfish. He didn't want to make anyone's life any better if he had to be miserable to do it. What was the point of being Minister if he had nobody to go home to?

Was this what he had with Penelope? A relationship based on their mutual understanding of how far they'd go to reach their goals...?

After the fight they had, they spent most of their time apart. She didn't tell him about her healers' appointments. She put down plates of piping hot stews that burned his tongue. She drank all of his coffee sachets. And he stayed miserable.

Fortunately—and unfortunately for him, Penelope was far too busy indulging into an extremely unhealthy shopping addiction to talk much to him most days. Her whole flat became overrun with multicoloured prams, sleepsuits and blankets within a few months of her telling him the news! It was becoming so unbearable that Percy could barely sleep in the same bed as her in case Mrs Riel's Perfect Prams for Pleasure would attack him in his sleep. Percy knew that Penelope had a little bit of a hoarding problem, but he'd rather not wake up and accidentally step on three lavender coloured stuffed Puffskeins on his way to the lavatory.

Even though she was barely celibate, he was about as interested as sleeping with her as he was making his own joke product! And that was before the big row they'd had!

After Penelope found out that they were having a girl, it seemed like their flat had become overrun with more pink things he could probably dream of. Every time that he went into Umbridge's office during work office, he had a near panic attack. At first, Percy thought it was because she wanted to have the baby. She wanted to be maternal and loving, but then he found out that she was just fuelling her innate obsession with buying things by buying them for 'the baby.' Because after they just had one of the worst fights they'd had in weeks, Penelope bought him a nice pair of white trousers!

Even though he tried to maintain a look of indifference, he missed not being around his family more every day. He wanted to Floo call his mum so bad and tell her about the baby, about Penny, about how it really wasn't working out. He'd give anything most days just to go home, have her fix him up some soup and he could sleep in his bed for a couple of days until he felt like himself. In his fantasy, even Ron seemed to accept this without telling him off for being a pathetic, spineless loser.

How was this fair? How was he just the set of attributes that people attached to him? When he thought of his siblings, he didn't think of them as so one-dimensional.

Why was he so one-dimensional? Why wasn't he allowed to be human?

He missed not waking up to Ron grumbling as he banged pots and pans against each other. He looked for a stack of Exploding Snap cards he'd been hiding away from the twins. He missed not seeing Ginny walk into the living room, with her ponytail slick with sweat after she was running outside in the woods at nine in the morning. He even missed the infrequent visits they got from Bill and Charlie, and how Bill always nearly bought him back something from Egypt. Well, he never used any of the things he'd bought him (what would he do with dragonhide boots, besides give Charlie a heart attack?) but he appreciated them. He missed being sat on the sofa at ten pm with the noise of the twins burning the house down to accompany him. Penelope was so sensible, and he was sensible, so he felt like… there was this big gaping hole in his chest. It was so quiet _everywhere_, and all Percy could hear was the sound of him sinking down.

And he doubted that it was particularly healthy for him to hope that the baby would break up the monotony of it all. A crying, nosy, screaming baby that would pull him out of his sadness.

Back before he'd left his family, his time with Penelope was excruciatingly valuable. She was the only sensible thing in the midst of madness. But now, without his family, he'd come to realise that two people that were exactly alike in every single way did not make for a healthy, normal relationship. At least, he thought that they were alike before he'd realised that she was far more career-focused than even him. She had cleared forty-eight hour shifts in the hospital. She spent more time researching articles about experimental potions than drinking the iron supplements that he'd forcibly bought her. Their relationship was not even a relationship anymore. Percy supposed that the only reason he was there was because she didn't want to take care of a baby to begin with! And how come he didn't realise before it was impossible to have a regular conversation with her without it ending up into a fight about how politically incorrect he was? How come she knew about everything that he talked about? Honestly, these days, Percy didn't even bother telling her what he worked on, because she always had an opinion and for some Merlin forsaken reason, it always had to clash with _his_ opinion! No matter what!

She didn't challenge him. She didn't question him. She didn't even sound like she _loved_ him sometimes.

And it had been ages since someone had called him a git! It had been ages since someone told him that he was a bore! And he didn't know what was worse. Being Perfect Prefect Percy or looking into the eyes of someone that he'd really loved, really cherished, and hear her say that he just wasn't good enough for her. He just… he didn't _understand!_

Percy recalled growing up around his parents so vividly. Every day his father seemed like he wanted nothing more to do than stay at home with their mum, and they'd been living together for far long than he and Penelope had. Even Charlie didn't look like he was bored out of his mum with the lady that he'd been rooming in with over at Romania. But the more he and Penelope spent together, the more he'd realised that he'd made a critical error. How could he let her continue her pregnancy when the emotions that he felt for her were so confusing? When he admired her more than he loved her! When she woke him up at five in the morning when he barely slept at night just so he could get to work on time!

Instead of telling her all of this, he'd shoved down the pain in his chest. She declined his invitation to watch a Quidditch game because _they_ had far too much work to do. Who said that he had too much work to do to spare a single day in the last few months to go out with her? Why was he the only one turning up to some of her gynaecological appointments when he wasn't the one carrying the half-stone foetus? He felt like setting his reports on fire when he came home. He was not motivated at all to work! Especially when this stupid job had cost him everything more than once. At his home, he'd been torn away from his reports for most of the day, but at least he didn't feel like he was going mental. And…and if he had to stare at another twelve-page essay, he might actually lose it!

You might ask… what did he do when he'd realised that he did not feel the same way for her as she did for him? What did he do after months and months of them disagreeing and fighting with each other day in and day out? The answer was quiet simple, straight-forward and very obvious when you thought about it.

He'd asked her to marry him. Even though they were about as compatible as You-Know-Who and a muggle.

Why did he ask her to marry him? Because Penelope very fervently told him that she was not about to have his illegitimate baby. They had a very romantic ceremony, signing papers whilst she was in her pyjamas. Their marriage contract that lasted all of half a year before it disintegrated into ether. At the time, she was heavily pregnant with baby Molly.

And he supposed that was when the story really began. You see, her flat was so overrun with-with things that he was getting panic attacks trying to sleep in the same room. So, the first thing that he'd done after she'd agreed to his marriage proposal was demand that he go and buy her a house. By that time, the love they had for each other had fizzled away, like candlelight slowly fading away. They had less spark in their relationship than that flat butterbeer they sold down the street from Penelope's flat. She talked to him less now than she had when they'd just been mates. The days of long-winded Ministry owls seemed to have been ages ago! All they had to bind them together was _her_.

The house that they'd bought was in the middle of nowhere. Just because Percy didn't believe in Dumbledore and Harry's theories did not mean that he couldn't be safe by finding the most secluded house ever. She was a muggleborn after all.

"Do you think that I can't handle myself?" Penelope said when she threw her suitcase in the middle of the living room.

Percy sighed deeply in contentment. It was nice to be someplace where he wasn't suffocating from the amount of rubbish she collected. He still remembered how it felt like when he walked straight into the house. It was spacious enough, with big concrete-looking walls and a cream-coloured carpet that covered the floor. The sofa was black and leathery. The table smelled like it would give poor eco-friendly Cedric Diggory a run for his Galleons if he'd been alive. The kitchen was quaint, and the fridge was big enough for a whole family—not that Penelope ate much to begin with. There were more rooms in the house than Percy had anticipated. He'd paid his first deposit in June of 1996. The first thing that he ate there happened to be a frozen cottage pie dish that sold for a couple of sickles in a shop a ten minute walk away. He slept for five hours that day.

"It's a nice house," was the first thing Penelope said that morning as she woke up next to him. It would be one of the last few nights where she'd sleep next to him in bed, before she'd claimed her own room down the hall. "Beautiful."

Percy remembered how he felt like that morning. _Empty_. "I suppose." He bloody hated that house.

He might feel empty, but the house didn't stay empty for long. He spent most of his time organising the rubbish that Penelope insisted on buying. There were boxes of things that she hadn't even opened yet, and things that she'd forgotten about. Percy had sized them down and tried to stew them away. He could barely sleep, thinking about the disorganisation everywhere. He could barely think when he woke up to the doorbell ringing. Another package delivered! Where in Merlin's name was he supposed to be putting all these Beater's Bats for? He didn't even like Quidditch!

After the third package delivered that day, Percy collapsed out onto the floor and started sobbing. He felt like he was suffocating into the room, as if it was so small and he didn't know where he was going to put all this-this _rubbish_.

When Penelope came over that day, she looked more than just a little bit annoyed, finding him curled up in foetal position. It was almost as if he made himself small enough, he wouldn't notice how disorganised his house had become, and how much that he'd wanted to run away. "Get up," Penelope finally said, and pulled him up to his feet. "Merlin, you're pathetic! Is that what you're like? A couple of boxes is enough to reduce you to tears?" she asked him, and Percy just stared back at her with puffy, glossy eyes. She didn't know how it felt. He kept on cleaning his hands, throwing away tidy-looking boxes because there just wasn't space. He didn't need all these prams! All these sleepsuits! All these carpets!

"Oh, shut up," Percy spat out coldly. She looked surprised, but not hurt. "What do you care? I know you're doing this on purpose. I know that this is your way of making me miserable, h-hoarding all this rubbish in the house!"

"You're so self-centred," Penelope stared at him. "Do you know what's happening at all in your beloved Ministry? Can I even call it that anymore since all you seem to care about is staying in bed and imaging various ways to die? Well, why don't you, Percy? Why don't you just die if all you're ever going to do is sleep most of your days away?"

Percy flinched. "That's… that's not fair," he said. "I lost my family. We…I left. Because they were…they said that—"

"I know what they said," Penelope told him coldly. "And if you're going to get me to side against your family, then next time, you should check what you're doing before you really wreck yourself." Percy wanted to tell her that _SHE_ was the one that convinced him to get this job. SHE was the one that convinced him to do this for their child…that she didn't even want!

She didn't reply back to it, but he knew that that was what she was doing. As he opened his mouth to speak, she slammed a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ into his chest and then passed by him. She was heavily pregnant now and had more energy to do things than he did. Pathetic. Percy huffed and looked back at the newspaper. _FUDGE RESIGNS. YOU-KNOW-WHO BACK_. It was the biggest, fattest copy of the Prophet that he'd ever heard in his life. He remembered panting as he read the paper—or he tried to. All he could remember was that he'd felt like all the air had knocked out of his lungs. The last thing he remembered was seeing a quote from Harry before he burst into pathetic tears. What had he done?

For a second there, he looked around him and he felt like the walls were too wide, the room was too big, and all he really wanted to do was to be as small as possible. He barely felt safe in his own new house. Then he heard Penelope scream. Her water broke, and the thought of leaving the house suddenly terrified him. How could he face the world out there when he'd mucked up so much? But the next thing he knew it, Penelope grabbed his hand and they were off to St Mungo's...

* * *

"That's strange," Percy said in the middle of his story. "Nobody has cut me off yet. Any particular reason? I can't imagine that it's really that gripping."

He, Bill and Charlie had probably been really tempted to know more details about that one snippet about him and Penny's dwindling sex life, but they'd controlled themselves.

George shook his head. "We were listening to your story! That's the whole point, isn't it?" he reminded him. "I mean…this is the farthest we've actually gone without any interruptions. But just for you, we can ask the audience for any comments they've just been dying to say since you've started the story again!" he gestured wildly at the group. "Any takers?"

"Yeah, Perce, well… your girlfriend—wife—whatever she was-is a real cow," Ron decided to comment.

Ginny looked furious. "And-and she borrowed a lippy from me ten years back!" what? When did she even use lippies? At her own wedding, she'd worn a pantsuit instead of dress robes because she couldn't be bothered! "I don't get it. She was always so nice to you in Hogwarts. You two were so nice together—you know, from what I saw anyway."

"I hope you didn't see them going at it," Bill muttered, only for Ginny to shoot a cold look towards him.

"William!" Molly tossed a look of disapproval over at him. He had three kids now! He wasn't above and beyond sex jokes. Even her youngest baby had babies. Besides, didn't Molly give her that first vibrating wand? "Don't be so uncouth."

"Is that enough for you?" George asked Percy, who nodded with a smile on his lips. There was a moment of silence between them, but George didn't even know what to say. He married a woman because…well, because it was the traditional thing to do. He bought a house for her that he hated that now he couldn't even leave. "So, Penny was the hoarder…before you know, you took it as a hobby," he thought of the Ministry eviction notices outside and shuddered.

"Penny is not a hoarder," Percy finally said tensely. "Penny hoarded things to annoy _me_. She hoarded things to get back at me for being neurotic but not being able to use my neurotism to actually apply myself, as I usually did."

"Joke's on her," George replied back. Look at how well he'd embraced the hoarding lifestyle! Penny would be proud.

Percy shook his head, looking solemn and stern. "No, George," he said. "Joke's on me."


	10. A Stay-at-Home Sort-of Parent

_comment replies:_

_**Arwengeld**: hopefully such questions will unfold soon enough. ;) along with some other things.  
_

* * *

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Ten: A Stay-at-Home Sort-of Parent

* * *

As for when Roger Davies fitted into the story, Percy had made it quite clear in the second part of the story.

Well, as Penelope was in the labour room shrieking her head off, he paced outside. Did he have to go in? He didn't do well with things that were not clean. He doubted he wanted to be in the same room as when she lost her amniotic fluid. Did you know that was purely baby wee? He might love his daughter, but he did not want to be bathed in her urine. He remembered feeling a clasp of a hand on his shoulder. "You look like you're about to be sick, mate," Roger told him. He'd just come out of his appointment for a creature-related injury and had seen Percy losing himself outside the labour ward.

Percy looked disgusted. "Don't be so uncouth," as if! Even though he really did feel like he'd be ill.

He paused when he realised that he'd recognised that handsome face anywhere (look, he might not be bent, but that didn't mean that he did not recognise the fact that Roger Davies was one of the most attractive men in Hogwarts). The last conversation they had was when they'd accidentally met up during a patrol and decided to raid the Hogwarts' kitchens. It was just before their N.E.W.T exams and neither of them had been eating properly. Not that you could tell when you looked at Roger Davies. He had the body and physical attributes of a veela that overdosed on Amortentia. After all, what foolish bloke would genuinely dump Fleur Delacour after their date at the Triwizard Tournament?

"Roger Davies?" Percy was surprised to see him. He didn't look that much different, except he was somehow even better-looking than he remembered. "I-I haven't seen you since that last Transfiguration exam when you'd actually transfigured your trousers into a diricrawl!"

Well, animal transfiguration was very difficult to be fair. And it wasn't that strange, trying to chase an extinct bird in the middle of the exam. At least it wasn't as disastrous as what Oliver Wood did to his collection of lemon and poppyseed muffins. Human Transfiguration was even harder and more advanced than the animal kind, but he doubted McGonagall wanted to see Playwizard models flitting in and out of the room in teeny tiny pink bikinis that barely even covered their flesh.

Roger groaned, looking disgruntled at the memory people had of him. "And with it flew away my chances of a full mark!"

Percy rolled his eyes. "Diricrawls don't fly," he reminded him. Then he heard Penelope scream out from the labour room. He doubted she'd be chuffed with him now, knowing that he was talking about _diricrawls_ when she was giving birth to their daughter. And little Molly probably didn't want to know that her father was busy being a coward.

When Percy professed his fears to him, Roger just scoffed. "Do _you_ know if your dad was in the delivery room?" Roger told him.

Percy opened his mouth to reply, but he didn't know. Still, he doubted that his father reacted negatively to his mum giving birth after she'd had Bill and Charlie. And he doubted that it was much of a birthing process after that. By the time that his mum had him, he'd practically slid out when she'd become fully dilated. According to her, his birth was so unremarkable and quick she might as well have done it in the bath! In fact, Ron and Ginny were both home births. She had Ginny at six, and she was nursing before Percy had even finished all of his carrot soup! She was so used to giving birth that when he'd complained, she fetched him a toasted bread roll. She'd even apologised to him! About how she'd forgotten to make him one on the account of her being in _ACTIVE LABOUR_ and all!

* * *

"That _CAN'T_ be true," Ron cut George off in the middle of reiterating the story. He looked disgusted and rather green in the gills.

"You're right, love," Molly said sweetly. Ginny looked like she'd rather not have heard the story of her birth in the Weasley family bathtub. She once saw Fred take a leak in there before he took a bath! "It was potato and leek soup."

* * *

After taking a few deep breaths and ensuring that he didn't pass out, Percy reluctantly walked towards the delivery room. As for what he saw, he wasn't exactly ecstatic about retelling such a graphic tale. But it was certainly a learning experience! He didn't know that there could be so many… _things_ inside a pregnant woman's abdomen. What was all this rubbish? There were gushes of blood, amniotic fluid and faecal matter everywhere. When Percy saw the baby crowning, he thought that he was the one that was going to pass out. How was seven-stone Penelope even managing?

When Roger walked inside dressed in the gown that Percy was, he grabbed Roger's hand and squeezed it tightly.

He was already calculating how many showers that he'd need to take just to be rid of himself of this stench.

"Shouldn't you be helping your wife?" Roger asked, only for Percy to shake his head.

As if Penelope wanted him to be near her! She was more likely to claw his face off than she was to appreciate the fact that he was there. Not that he blamed her... but what was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could do anything besides just gawk at her gaping twat. Percy thought seeing the baby crown was bad…that was before he'd watched a healer wave his wand and then actively slice through her perineum. By then, Percy let go of Roger and then fled to Penelope's side. She... was not ecstatic to see him.

_"HELP! HELP!"_ Percy shrieked breathlessly. "That healer hurt my wife! He-he tore through her _PELVIS!_ It's inhuman! It's horrible! It's stopped working!" he didn't exactly know how a pelvis was supposed to stop working but…

Roger was sudden by Percy's side. "Percy, that's an episiotomy," he whispered to him softly.

"I don't think I want to discuss the dichotomy of-of things with you now, Roger! Daft fool!" Percy was flushing rapidly.

Penelope looked at him like she wanted to kill him. "Percy, do... do you _WANT TO HAVE THIS BABY?"_

Percy could've said a hundred things. Things that would calm her down. He could whisper sweet nothings into her ear! He'd read such nice things in novels. He'd written some things during his time as a fifth year, sending her long letters. Instead, he said, "I... well, I don't suppose I biologically can."

From the look that Penelope gave him, he was sure by the time that she was through with him, _he'd_ be able to have triplets.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and then offered up his hand. "Do… do you want my hand?"

She spat at his hand, so he supposed that was a no. Percy just reeled back as she stared at him with hard steel-blue eyes.

"I have a _TWELVE-HOUR_ shift the day after this!" Penelope continued to scream at him. Percy was stunned. He wasn't the one that was giving birth and he wasn't exactly thinking about turning up to work the day after his wife had a child! "And if I find that I won't be able to control myself going to the lavatory anymore, I'm going to make sure that you can't either! Though I don't think I have to try so hard, considering you had a problem wetting the bed up until your fourth year in Hogwarts. _OH_ and do you know what else I can do? I'll find out where you've kept your copy of _Prefect Who Gained Power _book and then toss it into the Great Lake along with the rest of your wet dreams about you and that tosser Gemma Farley! _AND_-and these stretch marks don't go away with my Primpernelle products, I'm going to have you pay for my reconstructive procedures!"

Percy didn't think he could pay for a full-price cheese pasty! He was going to pay for her reconstructive procedures? As he dwelled on this, his heart nearly stopped when the midwife had managed to deliver his baby! A real life baby! _WOW!_ He hadn't seen one of those in ages!

He felt like he was about to faint when he heard Molly crying. Well, not that that was a new feeling. He'd spent the whole day feeling like he was about to faint!

When they offered him the cutting wand and asked if he'd like to cut the cord, Percy felt like they were joking. He could still remember looking at the pearly-white umbilical cord. It was drenched in clumps of blood. So, obviously, he decided that he'd rather sever his own hand off. After he declined being a part of his wife's birthing process, the baby was levitated by Baby's First Levitating Blanket, which took all the babies to the paediatric healers to be assessed in case they were going to, you know, need… reconstructive procedures. Once the baby was cleared, they were taken to the nursery to be cleaned and kept for when Penelope's vaginal walls looked... vaginal rather than a sloppy mass of congealed blood and floppy tissue. Ouch.

So, to conclude that... baby Molly Ginevra Weasley was born on the twentieth of June, weighing in at a hefty nine pounds. She was angry and red, with big fleshy arms that she flung in all directions. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Two hours later, Percy found himself crawling into Penelope's hospital cot whilst she slept. She'd already been washed and cleaned. She also smelled very heavily of the hospital, which was not a bad smell considering what was going on in that labour room! Whilst she slept, he held her hand.

"You did a great job," he cooed to her softly when she started to wake. "A wonderful, wonderful job." He pressed his lips against her temple. "But I-…I'm such a bloody prat."

"You _are_," Penelope replied back to him—_his_ Penelope, the one that liked him before all of this. She sounded like that. She didn't sound like the angry Penelope that he'd been dealing with for the past few months. "Biggest prat I met. You're so big of a prat that there are commemorative plaques talking about how much of a prat that you are."

"As long as there are plaques," replied Percy back to her and felt her smile into his arm.

Penelope's smile made his heart beat a little more. He felt every fight between them melt in seconds. Every horrible thing they'd said and done to one another suddenly evapourated into thin air, and all that was left was the opportunity for something more. Something better. He felt Penelope's hand move through his soft ginger locks...well, he assumed they were soft considering he'd switched to this rather nice shampoo. Even now, he could still feel her breath on his skin, and still feel his daughter's heart beating in his hands.

Even though he was dead, Percy could still remember how it felt like to be _alive_.

He thought that things were going to be okay. And when he opened his mouth to speak, he realised there was nothing that he could say to explain how he felt.

For the next few hours, he'd brought Penelope her favourite beef fried noodles, which she'd demolished like she hadn't eaten in ages. He wasn't supposed to actually, considering he might upset her stomach but she'd requested them in between passing out and going to the lavatory to pee and complain about how difficult it was to urinate after they'd stitched her up. He even went in to help her take a shower even though she had more stitches than a Weasley jumper. He let her use him as a human pillow. Percy tried to hide himself from nurses that knew that he was probably not supposed to be there anymore. They let it pass since she was a healer here in the hospital. He even convinced her to breast feed their baby for the first time... of course, she hated every second of it!

But he could still remember how her hair smelled like—the curly blonde locks that made his heart skip beats, the feel of her skin against his palm, the feel of her breath on his neck. He found himself really believing that this was going to work out. Penelope looked at him, tired with glassy eyes. He kept on kissing her face, her mouth, her hands. He was so convinced that even if she saw him as less than he was, it didn't even matter. Because how could it matter? This was the mother of his child. How on Earth could he _hate_ her?

"You should sleep," he told her after some time, pulling a little clip off her hair that he didn't notice had been there.

Before he left for the night (the nurse was kicking him out), Penelope reached out to grab his hand and squeeze it as tightly as possible. The next sentence he'd heard was, "I'm sorry," and then she closed her eyes.

_What are you sorry for?_ He supposed it wasn't threatening to make him pay for reconstructive procedures...

When he came back to the hospital the next day, he had splurged on a bouquet of flowers. It was not his things to use his money on things that were eventually going to die, but he supposed that this was a special enough occasions. Percy's hands were clammy and cold. When he walked into the room, he felt his heart thump wildly. He saw Penelope sat there, nursing Molly. The expression on her face was so sombre that he felt his heart race even more. He knew that they were going to _talk_... and he had no idea what about!

Penelope looked as serious as a case of dragon pox in intensive care. "Hey," she said in a whisper.

"Hello," Percy replied back, sounding as confused as he fucking felt. He sat down next to her. That seemed to be okay. He was still cradling the bouquet as if it was (and no pun intended) a newborn baby. He looked back at her, watching her expressions change. From sombre to depressed to angry to eerily, eerily calm all in one second. Percy watched her stare at him with sobering blue eyes. _I want you to leave. I'm going to give our baby off to an orphanage and there's nothing you can say about it. Oh, and this baby isn't even yours! Ha, surprise._ Thoughts were swirling into his mind at an alarming pace, and none of them even made any sense!

"Penny?" Percy called out gently, feeling more anxious then than the day that he broke mum's favourite vase.

Penelope closed her eyes. "This… this isn't going to work out," she said. When she said it the way that she did, he realised that despite their distance and fights and fraudulent marriage, there was something that made him feel so _lost_. He honestly didn't know what he was going to do without her... both of them. There was a big, empty hole in his heart just thinking of being so alone. He'd already lost one family. Was he really going to lose his other one too? "I care about you. And I don't want to lose you. You're my best friend. Even though we've been fighting a lot, you're still my closest friend… and sometimes, you feel like you're my only friend." Yes, _friend_. That should explain what a farce their actual marriage had been.

"You… you're my only friend sometimes too," Percy admitted, feeling his throat hurt.

They stayed there in silence for some time. She was right. They were sort of each other's only friends at times. Ever since he'd met her in his fifth year, he'd been together with her. She was the only girl that he'd been with, and he was the only bloke she'd been with. They hadn't seen any other people. Percy understood that the infatuation that they had for each other probably was marred by the enthusiasm of being each other's first loves, but right now, he felt a rock of pain and confusion form in his stomach. Percy knew _something_ had to happen. But what?

Penelope cleared her throat and looked down at the sleeping baby in her hands. "Percy, you're really…really depressed."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "At times," he said softly, but she just shook her head.

"Not at times. _All_ of the time," Penelope told him. He flinched at the cold tone in her voice, but there was a hint of something there: something that sounded along the lines of sadness, regret and self-loathing. She closed her eyes and big fat tears burned down her cheeks. "I don't care about your career. I... know I made it seem like that's all I care about, but I don't. I care about _you_. But… seeing you like this it made me so mad. Because I don't know what to do to help you. I just thought that maybe if you'd go to work, it would... distract you." The words she said struck him hard.

She moved to place the baby into the hospital cot right next to her. It was then he noticed that how violently she was crying.

Penelope shook her head at him. "Y-y-you can't take care of a baby, Percy," she said. "Y... you c-can barely take care of yourself!"

"What…" Percy didn't know why she was saying all of this, but he couldn't disagree with her. If he could, he'd just lie in bed all day, doing absolutely nothing. It felt like even existing now was so difficult, and he had no idea why. A part of him, a horrible part of him wanted a baby just so he didn't have to be so alone all of the time. "What's... what's going to happen now?"

"Percy, you… you _need_ help," Penelope firmly said as she placed a hand on his arm. "You really need help."

Percy stayed quiet because he didn't know what to say. It hurt him deeply, but he couldn't really say anything because she was right. This was no life for him, or the environment that he should be raising their child in. But if he'd had so much choice with his feelings, he surely wouldn't be so miserable in the first place. He woke up every morning with an exhaustion that made his limbs feel like they weighed ten stones each. Even if he did nothing that day, he was about as exhausted as Harry probably had been after finishing the Triwizard Tournament (well... saying that earned a smile from Harry, George noted. Probably the first thing that he'd said that had any reaction from Harry!).

Penelope sighed deeply. "I think…I think we need to try to be more apart," she honestly said. "And I think you need to get help."

Percy just stared at her confused. But she kept her eyes on his face. "What about… what about her?" he looked at Molly.

"What about her?" Penelope had her hand on his thigh now and was squeezing it. "I think she'll like her new nursery."

"I think so too. The yellow would suit her," Percy remembered that they went for a gender-neutral colour for the room even though they were sure it was a girl. Percy quite liked the colour—even if it did look like a Custard Cream and a Canary Cream made love. But the way that she was talking to him, the way that things were happening…it had to be for the better!

Percy felt her grab his face and then kiss him, hard and soft and slow, like she'd never really kissed him before.

"She's going to look like you," Penelope cajoled softly to him. "She's going to look exactly like you."

When he took her home, he was inspired to collect her first levitating blanket, the first bottle that she'd ever drunken out of and the first drink that Penelope had after she'd just delivered Molly. Everything just felt so special and important that he felt the need to keep it in their home. He'd even kept a few nappies—well, her first package of _unused_ nappies. He wasn't mental. True to her word, Penelope was about as interested in breast-feeding her as she was interested in dancing nude at The Leaky Cauldron, but she still did it sometimes. That day, he went back home with a new baby, a wife that was willing to try and an appointment for the psychiatric healers. Him! Going to a psychiatric healer because his wife thought that he was looking a little blue. _Merlin_. Seriously?

But it was like the second they stepped into the house; Percy was sucked back into the low that he'd been feeling for weeks.

It was then that he wrote his first owl that led to his undoing. It was four days after Scrimgeour took control of the Ministry, and on the last day of his 'emergency leave' that he doubted was an actual emergency. It wasn't like he was the one that was giving birth to a mass of flesh and bones (though he did want to get the image out of his head now.)

It was then that Percy asked Scrimgeour if he could work from home. He supposed with the news about You-Know-Who and the fact that all of his work was purely paperwork, Scrimgeour allowed it on the condition that he was prepared to take on any requests at any hour of the day. After Percy accepted Scrimgeour's rules, he had big fat stacks of reports on his desk every morning at five am. When he cleared a stack, another equally hefty stack found its way when Percy was just enjoying a tea with a buttered crumpet after lunch. Most days, he worked harder and more efficiently than he did at the Ministry. When Penelope saw him like that, she looked tentative about the appointment that he'd made for the psychiatric healer. Though that apprehension didn't last for long. After all, she'd moved into a room down the hall because he tossed and turned for most of the night. He often woke up in cold sweats, feeling anxious and confused. When he woke up, he felt unsafe and alone. As if someone could just as strangle him in his sleep and he would die alone and nobody would care. Far-fetched, he understood, but the feeling was just so real at the time.

The house felt so safe and familiar during the times that he'd wake and reach for his pillow. Penelope was sleeping in the room just beside him, but this physical pillow would always be there for him to hold. His family hated him, but he doubted that that duvet that carried his memories and dreams for a decade would. _Stupid_, he thought of himself.

The smell of the familiar things around him were some of the only things that could let him go back to sleep. It was the only thing that would calm him down, considering that everyone else had abandoned him and left him on his own.

It was one in the morning and Percy was soaked in his own sweat. He didn't remember what the nightmares were about, just being in places that he couldn't escape. He would be in empty rooms where he'd feel the world swallow him whole from how big and spacious they were.

"Hey boy," Percy pulled his head up to see Hermes perched on the window. He kept his cage open so that Hermes could go in and out of it as he pleased, along with an open window. He'd already showed him his daughter, gleaming with a pride that he didn't even know that he could have. He may not be on terms with Penelope, but he spent most of his day taking care of her whilst she was at work. He spent the whole day feeding her from Penelope's bottled and preserved breast milk, changing her nappies and holding her until he was sure that his arm would literally drop. But at night, Penelope took over and took Molly to bed with her. Percy supposed that cot was a real waste of money, because Percy also kept her beside him when he slept on her on-calls.

He'd feel Hermes fly over to him just to sit next to him as he tried to go back to sleep. When Percy tossed and turned in his sleep, his owl bought him enough blankets to actually bury him in. But eventually between the hours of three to five am, he usually was able to go back to sleep, only to wake up at six in the morning when Penelope walked inside and handed him their baby before going off to work. Percy would then spend the whole day juggling his ever-expanding in-tray and a baby that kept screaming his head off. Even with Pepper-Up, he felt like his head was about to implode.

He'd been booked to see the psychiatric healer in a month, but on the day of his appointment, Molly had a high fever. So, Percy was sat at home with her all day. He'd Floo called and rescheduled for the following month. By the time that appointment had come, Penelope was on call and he had nobody else to watch his daughter, so he'd rescheduled his appointment again. By the time his third appointment had come around, Percy had not left the house at all for three months. He'd changed from his stolen pair of Charlie's sweatpants and an old Quidditch jumper that had faded colours into his normal clothes, which he hadn't worn in ages. They felt uncomfortahble whilst before they were a second skin.

By the time that he walked to the door, there was this solid feeling in his gut of something being amiss. The house was eerily silent as he slowly opened the doorknob. When he opened the door fully, he felt a panic rise in him when he was hit by... _everything_.

The world was vast, bright and colourful to the point where it was burning through his sockets. He could feel his hands getting sweaty just clinging onto the doorknob. He felt his heart racing as if it was going to beat out of his chest. He was sweating and panting, and he felt like everyone was staring at him, picking him apart with their stares. All Percy could see a world full of people laughing at his misfortunes, at his failures, at everything that he was. Laughing at the bloke that couldn't even leave the house without collapsing into a full-blown panic. He shut the door behind him and was panting heavily. He felt as if he was about to double over with a heart attack from how ill he suddenly felt. The pain in his chest was so sharp and painful that he was sure that there was something physically wrong with him. His whole body shook, as if he was about to convulse.

He found himself curling up in his bed (it used to be his and Penelope's bed! Lovely). He spent ages just breathing into his duvet and pillows, trying to remind himself that he was fine and safe here in his own house. Nobody could see him here. He felt so empty. The house felt so big and empty. And he just felt like he wanted to squeeze himself into the tiniest safe space imaginable. He'd never felt like this before. He'd never felt a feeling so strong before. He felt like he was about to suffocate from just how much he was feeling, like he was drowning in his very loud, very vocal thoughts.

When Penelope walked into the room an hour later, she sat on the edge of his bed. "How was it?"

"Um…" Percy tired to find a way to tell her that he most definitely did not go. "About that—" he tried to sit up.

She moved to feel his arm, and she had such a soft expression on her face. "Merlin, Percy, when's the last time you slept?" he didn't know how he must've looked like to her. She was the one that was holding on-calls that lasted thirty-six hours, but she looked like she slept more than him? Percy just shrugged and looked away. He was embarrassed about that too. He was embarrassed about the fight that he'd had with his father. About the way that he behaved during the labour room. He couldn't do this. "Percy?" she shook his hand.

He was still closing his eyes and then whispered almost quickly, "I can't leave the house."

Penelope scoffed. "What do you mean you can't leave the house?" but she saw him clinging onto the duvet. Percy didn't understand how to explain what he felt. He just sounded more mental than ever. Before, it was just _I feel so sad my family doesn't want me_ rubbish but now, he was sure that he had a panic attack? He'd had one before an exam in his first year, but he hadn't had them in years. Over what? Stepping outside and seeing the sun? But the weather felt so suffocating and his hairline was still damp with sweat. He felt like he might actually die if he left the house. He knew that it didn't make any sense, but it was how he felt. And it felt as real as the hair on his skin. "Percy, what's wrong with you? You're supposed to be getting _better_… not worse!"

Penelope shook her head but then must've noticed how he looked like. "When did this even happen?"

"I…I don't think I know," Percy just smiled weakly at her. It had been a few months since he'd been out of the house, but he didn't think he'd noticed. He did have a habit of drawing down the curtains, of keeping the lights off if he could and calming himself down with fruit-scented, thick duvets. "Pen, I couldn't leave _the door_. It felt…it doesn't feel safe."

Penelope nodded her head and placed her hand on his. "I understand," she said softly, as she smoothed his shirt. He felt unsettled even then. How could she understand? He didn't even understand what he felt! How could she feel so sure? He felt so angry but the words just died in his mouth when he tried to speak. "We _are_ in a war… and I know you are generally a precautious person. I mean it is to be expected! Right? It's why you wanted to work from home... but it's worked out as a treat for both of us. You being here with Molly while I'm at the hospital..."

_No, no, it's not like that,_ Percy had not had a single thought of the war or being chased by Death Eaters. _And what do you mean it's worked out as a TREAT?_

"What's wrong, Percy? Kneazle got your tongue?" Penelope smiled weakly, but he was not laughing. "Look! I'll see about a psychiatric healer that would visit houses. That should help," she ran her hand through his hair, which he can confirm was very soft thanks to his new shampoo. She laughed, and in his fuzzy mind, he'd heard something about how he was the most frightened, cowardly Gryffindor that she'd ever met. He didn't feel very validated, just sat there being looped in with people that wouldn't leave their safe houses because they were afraid of being clawed by a Death Eater. He had not had a single thought about the war when he was out there! Not a single thing about a Death Eater, or being attacked. How was he like everyone else?

"I suppose," he remembered saying even after she left. He pulled his duvet over himself. He felt safer like this, away from people. Away from even her.

Three weeks later, Percy Weasley met his psychiatric healer for the first time.

Her name was Audrey Brown.

* * *

"Wait, _YOU'RE_ getting tired?" George asked after Percy yawned for the fifth time that hour. "You're sleepy? You're dead!"

"Even _I_ sleep, George," Percy mumbled, his hands on his knees. "Not out of necessity, of course. I rather enjoy sleeping. It's my favourite past time. It has been for a few years now that I think about it," he curved his lips into a smile. Percy then smirked, and before George could know it, he was back into his first-year body and was in a pair of pyjamas. He was a rather chubby first year, with soft cheeks and thin, pink lips. "You act like it's shocking that I have the ability to do this! And mind you, it _could_ be worse. I could turn into a foetus."

"He's tired?" Ron looked at George, who just nodded his head. "He yawned!" George answered in shock.

"Yawned?" Ron echoed in disbelief, looking at where he thought Percy was at. "Being dead isn't enough rest for you?"

"Does it look like I'm resting?" Percy muttered, rolling his eyes. It was weird seeing Percy move around when he was only a first year. Even then, he had such an ego! "Considering you've named me King Prat and you know how much I can gloat; you can appreciate it when I say that I've have never talked so much in my life! Or—_err... _death either."

With that, the smile dropped off his face and he changed into his sixth-year form. George would know because that was when Percy had decided that if he cut his hair short enough, he could control that mass of congealed things he called curls. Yeah, it did not work out so well. He'd just succeeded into making himself look more of a git than ever!

"Well—um, he says he wants to sleep," George explained to everyone, but he yawned too. "So, um... Penny was mean and now she's nice again. Which one is it?" only for Percy to give him a cheeky smile. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Percy shook his head, offering a toothy smile. "Well... I wouldn't want to spoil the ending," he yawned again.

"Spoiler: you die," George replied back, rolling his eyes. "We already know that. Speaking of which, is all this detail really necessary? Do you have to really tell us how miserable you were before you died?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "Well, I did always have a trouble with word limits on essays so…" he shrugged. George still couldn't believe that things were okay with them.

Before George could ask, Percy had literally floated down to Merlin knew where. He still couldn't believe his ghost brother slept. Where did he sleep anyway? Where did ghosts usually sleep? He didn't exactly have a _coffin_ that he could retire to if he wanted to! But as George went to think about this, he yawned into his hands himself. The stupid prat made him sleepy with all his yawning! Look, it was only nine o'clock anyway. Where was he heading off to? But now that George thought about it, he could do with a night-in the Burrow and away from this... he would've slept in Percy's room just to keep up the sadness and suspense, but he didn't fancy sharing a cot with Hugo. The bastard always took up all the blankets anyway!

"We'll come by tomorrow," Arthur squeezed George's shoulder, who just nodded his head.

George yawned. Great, now he was doing it. "Alright," he rubbed his eyes. Before he knew it, his head had hit the pillow and he was snoring.

But before he fell asleep, all George could think about was how come Percy got agoraphobic staying in the house. Everyone used to live in safe houses at the time. Most of them would do anything to get out! But what made you want to stay inside...?


	11. When Percy Met Audrey

_i had such a severe writer's block for this chapter that i felt like it was a miracle that i was able to get this out!_

* * *

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Eleven: When Percy Met Audrey

* * *

_OW!_ As George sat up from an old maroon Burrow sofa, he massaged his deteriorating back.

Just then, he heard an owl screech (and spit) at his face. Bloody owls! He hated those…things! With hazy eyes, he swatted Errol away. Bloody owl was looking at him like he'd eaten all of his favourite cinnamon owl snacks. Merlin only knew what Errol had against him, but his socks and pyjamas had been destroyed overnight. He was hole-ier than ever now!

War hero and head of the anti-owl movement group, George muttered to himself. He'd hated those ruddy monstrosities since one chased him during a Quidditch game when he was a third year. Fred had never let him live it down since!

_Without owls, George, we all would've died in 1886 from famine and ego! _He could hear Percy echo in disbelief.

_Oh, muck off, you owl-loving carpet hugger_, George bitterly replied back. He yawned into his hands. That was funny. He couldn't particularly remember his inner Percy having an issue with him thinking that owls were gits. Nor did he actually know anything about History of bloody Magic. _And didn't YOU die from famine and ego? Where was your precious owl then? _

Hermione just walked downstairs with a fresh load of laundry. Nothing for him though. All his clothes were packed away in that Exploding Swamp Percy called his home. Ron was sat across from him, reading a comic book. He looked like he'd matured over the years. He'd actually picked up one that had more writing than they had pictures! James and Albus were eating crackers on the ground… well, fighting over crackers more like it. George heard Ginny moan about how bad James was to Albus, but the verdict was still out on that. Albus was currently smearing margarine all over James' flushed face.

George shuddered. _Children_. There was no way that he and Angelina were going to have a child. Much less two! He was incredibly happy being the uncle that made things implode on sight and the one that let you eat enough ice-cream to spend the night projectile vomiting. In fact, George was more likely to help you… _direct_ said sick to Roger Davies' bookstore.

As he yawned into his arm, he sat up and heard Percy judge him all the way from his home. _I… I told you to go home and sleep, not go home and fall into a coma,_ he muttered indignantly. _Who goes to sleep at nine pm one day and wakes up at five the next?_

_Yeah, yeah,_ George replied back, still not fully awake. He rubbed his eyes and then shuddered at how loud and clear he sounded like. _Wait, Perce, _George was stunned, heart thumping loudly into his chest. _Is that really YOU?_

Did that mean that he had a telepathic connection with a dead git that he never got along with when he was alive? Merlin, he never had anything like that with Fred. Dead or alive, George thought sordidly. Honestly, George was half-glad Fred wasn't around because he would be absolutely stewing in jealousy and amusement. Oh, and how embarrassing was it that he had more of a spiritual connection with Percy than he did with the bloke that he'd shared a womb with him?

_George, you ARE aware that I can hear your thoughts?_ Percy pulled him out of his thoughts. _Git that he never got along with?_

_That's… that's not fair!_ George stammered back. He didn't sound very convincing. _I can't hear YOUR thoughts! _

_Yes, you can, but you just don't know how to because you've never picked up a SINGLE book in your life,_ responded Percy.

George couldn't believe Percy was in his head. He was flushing so wildly, thinking about all the inappropriate things he thought about that Percy probably knew about. He didn't want Percy to know about how often (or how infrequently) that he slept with his own wife. He didn't want Percy to know that how much he'd lied to him during their Hogwarts years. And he most definitely didn't want Percy to know that he sometimes he still thought he was a prat. This was just absolutely wonderful! Spectacular! Exactly what he wanted… someone to share all his thoughts and emotions! Oh, free therapy!

_Um… George, you should know that if you don't want me to, you can just politely ask me to leave,_ Percy was amused.

_Well, GET OUT!_ George groaned. He still couldn't believe that nobody else could see Percy. Now, what was he supposed to tell everyone? That their super-special bond meant that they could share thoughts. How did that make any sense? He felt like he was becoming loonier than ole Loony… who wasn't loony at all now that they figured out that all the creatures that had been featured in _The Quibbler_ were actually real. Blasted Roger Davies and his empire thwarting his business.

He could practically feel Percy rolling his eyes. _I_ _did say politely,_ he reminded him curtly. _Well… um… farewell, George!_

Farewell? Even Dumbledore didn't say farewell! Groaning and moaning about how he hated the universe, George got up from the couch and walked upstairs. He was still muttering to himself about how he couldn't believe this!

He sighed deeply and went to go take a long bath, scrubbing down a decade of accumulated stench. Maybe it was a blessing that a group of small incest-like creatures ate Percy's body. He couldn't imagine how a ten-year-old corpse might smell like. He was already retching from the smells in the kitchen—and George was the one that invited extra strong dungbombs! You'd think that he'd been immune to the foul and odour-ful. A reeking mountain troll would probably quail at the rotten, stale stink of Percy's living room. You could practically smell the house eating itself!

After he was red and raw from his shower, George put on Charlie's hand-me-downs. He wore an old red-and-green Caerphilly Catapults Quidditch sweatshirt and trousers. It was so bright that he looked like he was almost radioactive. Just the kind of thing that belonged in his shop. It might be the only source of light in Percy's tiny little trashed up hole.

He ate this cheese and ham pastry that was thicker than Percy's head. He drank tea, even though he didn't like tea.

Then after that, he and the rest of the Weasley's just apparated back to Percy's house. Merlin, he'd seen more of Charlie and Bill these days than he had in the last few years. He hadn't seen the Golden Trio so awkward since those times that Harry and Ron stopped talking to each other because they were being arses. Well, they apparated straight into Penelope's room so that they could avoid the uncontrollable disaster that was the rest of his house. Percy was already sat on the table—okay, more accurately, he was floating on top of the table. He was wearing a pair of non-descript black robes. He was a little older than his seventh years. Percy looked up and then raised an eyebrow, as he took in George's appearance.

"I thought you would've at least combed your hair," Percy muttered. "If you've taken so long to come back."

"I recall someone wanted to throw me out indefinitely," George reminded him. He grabbed a pillow from Penelope's bed and then propped himself up against it. He'd barely digested the rubbish that Percy told him last time.

As George tried to get himself comfortable on the floor, Percy seemed to be in good spirits. "Mum looks nice today."

George looked up and met his eyes. He looked like he was almost glowing. Merlin, how jaded was that? He was dead and he'd never looked any happier than ever. But George just let himself relax. Percy must be having a field day. People that gathered around all day to listen to him talk about himself. When he said (well, _thought_) that, he saw Percy roll his eyes.

Oh. George had almost forgotten that he could hear his thoughts. Just bloody great. "Mum, Percy thinks you look nice."

"Your mother always looks nice," Arthur immediately supplemented afterwards, only for Molly to flush.

"Thank you," she sounded really flattered. It made George feel like an arsehole for not complimenting his mum ever.

Molly looked rather chuffed to hear that. George didn't notice until then that she was wearing one of her new house robes. Percy was right. They were actually really nice. She'd gone out with Fleur and Angelina to buy them a few weeks back. It was a pair of bright pink robes, with gigantic green dewy flowers. George didn't even notice that she'd really made a nice effort with her hair. Merlin, he called Percy out for being a git, but at least he noticed when their mum made an effort to look nice!

"You're right," Percy finally said. George looked at him as if he were mental. Percy said that _he_ was right? He cleared his throat. "I _do_ like that people are listening to me," he admitted. "Nobody has ever really listened to me when I was alive."

George didn't know why that statement hurt him so much. "So…you were telling us about Audrey?"

Percy looked a little bit upset with what he'd said himself but seemed to snap out of it the second that George asked him that. "Yes! Well, _Audrey_," the way that he said that name made George whistle. Give it to Percy to have a thing for his therapist. She couldn't be that great if she left him here to rot, but still, it was nice. "I…I remember Audrey very well."

IMAGINE having a fear of _opening the door_. Fifteen minutes before Audrey Claire Brown was supposed to come see him, Percy walked over there and just stood there. He was hyperventilating like his mum would be if she ever met the creator of _Witch Weekly_ magazine. Percy was sure that he might actually faint, and he couldn't faint. If he fainted, they might whisk him away to a hospital. And if he ever stepped foot in St Mungo's, he was sure that the world would implode.

He just stood there, staring the old wooden door fashioned by an old man for an old house that didn't really belong to him.

Percy felt the smoothness of the cold door handle against his hand. The sound of creaking, the smell of metal… he left the smallest crack, with the smallest amount of light seeping through. With a three-centimetre crack, he could hear the world abuzz with a clarity even vampires didn't have. He could feel an entity swallow him whole. He felt so terrified that he was paralysed for a few moments. Percy could even feel tears start to form into his eyes, hearing the rustling of leaves and the sounds of life outside, _mocking_ him. And it was absolutely pathetic that a grown man would be reduced to tears because a world existed outside of the hole that he lived in. If the Sorting Hat could see him now, it would laugh at him! There was a war happening! People were sat at home, afraid of Death Eaters and dementors sucking their souls out. They did not black out at the thought of going outside to pick up a pint of milk. Who in the world would be afraid of wind, grass and sun?

What else was left to be afraid of? Breathing? Percy was so ashamed of himself. Fred and George would have a field day with him. He'd managed to become even more mental than their Uncle Bilius with his alcoholic liver disease!

No matter how many times Percy told himself that he would not combust if he left the house, he still couldn't just...go. He knew that his fears were irrational, but they felt so real that it left him dizzy with emotion. The light outside was blinding. The sunlight felt so foreign and uncomfortable on his skin. He could hear everyone speaking so loudly, like someone was screaming into his ear. His heart pounding like he'd been smacked by the dull, heaving handle of Godric Gryffindor's sword. He felt like nothing was going to be normal again. And besides, what would Percy want to do outside anyway? He had a newborn at home! And why would he apparate to buy a couple of quills when it would leave him in such a catatonic state? There was nothing in the world that was worth feeling like this! He had everything that he had right here. And wasn't it dangerous to leave the house in the first place?

_What's happening to me?_ He remembered thinking a few days before as he fed Molly a bottle. Who was more terrified of having to open the curtains more than being attacked by Death Eaters? How dare he think like that when he had a child?

Audrey nearly sent him into a coma when she cracked open the door as if it… it was _okay!_ Merlin, she nearly killed him.

Percy stiffened instantly, feeling his heart beat so fast that he could feel it in his throat. Audrey Claire Brown looked to be around the same age as him. She had her thick, dark hair tied back, caramel-coloured skin and honey-brown eyes. Well, if working as a psychiatric healer didn't work out, she could always volunteer as a Honeyduke's representative for their Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramel and Honey Bits and Tricks bar. She also smelled heavily of a Primpernelle shop that just exploded—overpoweringly floral and sweet. Percy might just gag, but he thought that that look rude.

"Percy Weasley?" Audrey was holding a giant clipboard and had a tiny black wallet chain purse slung on her shoulder.

Percy nodded his head. "Yes. That is my name." So far, this therapy thing was not exactly going great.

Audrey smiled at him. She had a very pleasant smile that he was sure that she gave all her clients. "My name is Audrey Brown. I'm a psychiatric healer," Percy knew that she couldn't be a Hogwarts' student. He would've remembered her. "Um… your wife said that you've not been able to make it down to the clinic because—well—because of the war."

_My bloody wife wouldn't understand what I'm feeling if I smacked her with a cauldron. Which I would not do, obviously… since that is domestic abuse. _He could feel her taking him all in. It wouldn't be hard. He wasn't all that remarkable to begin with.

"Well…it's really dark in here. Even _I_ would depressed living here!" Audrey laughed lightly. "Would you mind if I turn the lights on?" without waiting for an answer, she moved to turn the light on.

Percy had a near aneurysm, naturally. _"NO!"_ Percy threw himself over at the wall, which succeeded in making him look like he was mental. "This is…sufficient!"

Audrey looked at him. Already he could see her start to break him down. "No?" she reiterated. He pursed his lips tightly.

"No," he replied in a calmer fashion. "I…um…I have unbelievably bad migraines. Debilitating really," he lied, and he could tell immediately that she didn't believe a single word that came out of his mouth. "Almost makes me want to die," he then realised his poor choice of words when her facial expressions changed. "Not that I ever _really_ wanted to die!"

"Yes," Audrey nodded her head dubiously. "Right," she cleared her throat. "Um…should we sit down?"

"Yes, yes, yes, that sounds reasonable," Percy couldn't believe how horrible of a host he was. "I've made tea and…um…" Percy then started to talk in a near erratic fashion, "Err, sit down anywhere! Really! I'll be back!" he ran into the kitchen.

He could hear Audrey call out from the living room, "Is this a sofa or a bed?" He didn't reply back.

If he kept this up, she'd have him committed by the end of the day. He'd practically sprinted over to the kitchen where he'd kept a tray ready: strawberry biscuits, small wholemeal scones and a pot of cardamom milk tea bubbling with fragrance. It was a miracle that he'd managed to make it back to the living room without dropping it.

"Oh," Audrey nodded her head, and then stiffened. "Are those strawberries? I…I have a deadly allergy." Of course.

"Oh, now that's…!" Percy's cheeks coloured in. Of course, she had a deadly allergy! The second he'd put the tray down, Molly's earth-shattering screams sounded out and echoed through the empty house.

"Err… that's my infant!" Percy explained, as if the ear-curdling shrieks weren't telling enough. "I'll just be a minute."

When Percy turned to leave, Audrey stood up from where she sat. "Yes?" Percy looked confused.

"I'd rather come with. Did you know that it's theorised most personality disorders are related to how the baby is treated during development? Not that you, or your baby, are in risk of personality disorders," Audrey laughed. "But it's interesting, don't you think?"

"Oh," Percy wanted to protest but couldn't come up with a clever enough reason for her to stay down there. "Um...yes, well, I can use the company?"

He led her upstairs. Percy should probably explain what each room was,, but he felt stiff and unwelcoming. He was turning out to be an absolutely horrible host (George nodded his head in real time, and Percy rolled his eyes). He could practically feel Audrey drawing to a million conclusions a second. She probably looked at him and figured out that his mum didn't stop breast feeding him until he was three and that he hadn't stopped wetting the bed until he was fourteen. He was already embarrassed, and it hadn't even been five minutes since she'd met him.

"There is… a lot of things here, Percy," Audrey broke him out of his thoughts. "Um…I don't know you, but I don't really think that you to keep broken quill or empty ink pots! And do you really need five copies of the same book?"

_"Hmm?"_ Percy hadn't noticed but things were starting to pile up. This was normal when you had a newborn. And shouldn't this be a good thing? He doubted that convulsing because things weren't clean enough was healthy either! All these things made him feel like he lived in such a small space. And he liked feeling so safe in such a small space carved out just for him, away from all the open places where he couldn't just leave. "They…they have sentimental value!"

"Generic quills have sentimental value?" Audrey inquired with a raised eyebrow. "Don't you feel like this is excessive?"

"No," he mumbled. What did she mean if it was excessive? He wasn't going to leave this house for quills! Maybe amongst the twenty quills he did hoard, there was one working one. And alright, maybe the other nineteen might not work but maybe they were going to work later? And what if he needed them for something else in the future? Nobody could predict what they might need in the future! What if there was an ink pot that only retained that specific brand of quill and he'd gone and thrown them away and now he needed to _leave the house?_ What if the shop stopped making them? What then?

Percy walked into his room where he'd kept Molly in her cot. He stared at Audrey, trying to read her expression.

"This is you and your wife's room?" Audrey asked, and he wished that she didn't word it like that.

"Err… no, this is my room," Percy answered. "Penelope can't sleep with me in the same room. I… snore rather badly," he badly he might add. "Because of my migraines."

The nursery room was never used. Little baby Molly was bouncing between her mother and father on a daily basis. He felt a pang of pain in his chest. He lifted her up, and she stared at him with big, googly eyes. There was drool everywhere. She was warm to his touch, fat and happy. Noticing the time, he decided that she was due for her feeds. He _Accio_-ed a bottle of lukewarm breast milk from downstairs. He thought of how horrific Penelope would be if she knew how mental he really was on the inside. Fifteen minutes later, Percy settled a sleeping newborn back into her cot. It was like he'd fed her Dreamless Sleep potion.

"You snore," Audrey reiterated in disbelief. "And you _share_ your baby it looks like. That cot hasn't had its imprints on the carpet yet." Now she was reading the cot imprints? Blimey, he was going to end up fighting for custody at this point!

Percy watched Audrey surveying the pile of papers on his desk. They were all finished, and then she was staring at his daughter as if she was trying to figure out what their relationship really was like. "Percy, do you—"

"I… I'm a good father," Percy blurted out, but he doubted it the second that he said it. "Look! She's… she looks happy!"

Merlin! What if the healer were under the impression he'd fed her Dreamless Sleep potion? Percy made a mental note to put several gobstones underneath his daughter's cot so that she wouldn't be too peaceful and serene. Just in case.

Percy looked away from her. "I apologise," he realised how that might seem to her. "I felt unsettled by your silence."

To make him feel better, Audrey stayed silent for about thirty seconds more and nearly gave him a coronary.

"I never said that you weren't," Audrey said very slowly. "Do _you_ feel like you're not a good father?"

Percy only flushed deeply. "I…well…" he paused. "I suppose every parent feels like they're not doing enough."

Audrey smiled weakly and said, "But you didn't answer my question." What was he going to say? _No? I'm a horrible father! Take my baby please?_

He wished he could just crawl into the smallest space forever and be safe away from this universe that just felt so bloody big and overwhelming. Percy thought of his family for a second and felt himself grow ill. He was never going to have a normal relationship with them ever again. What would they say if they found out that he'd had a baby, a real breathing living _baby_, and couldn't even buy her a pack of nappies without having a coronary? How could he be a good father?

"The tea is getting cold," Percy decided to say softly. "And…I think I have some lemon biscuits in the cupboard if you'd like."

They retreated back downstairs. Percy spent five minutes looking for lemon biscuits and found them buried underneath tons of boxes of half-open sugar-free chocolate biscuits that Penelope liked. He'd keep them just in case he'd ever become diabetic, considering he didn't really like them either. He offered a plate to her, and she took two with her tea.

"How was your relationship with your father like?" she asked him, as she blew on her piping hot tea.

Percy closed his eyes and tried to think of a word that would summarise what he had with Arthur Weasley.

"I…I don't know if it could be considered a relationship." Even with such a dramatic fight, it wasn't like anything had changed in his life other than Percy growing ten times more cynical. "We were never particularly close."

The realisation that that was how he'd describe his relationship with his father was heart-breaking. The conclusion that he had after that? He didn't think he'd consider anyone as having a close relationship with him, not even his own wife.

The twins had themselves and Lee Jordan. Ron and Ginny had Harry and Hermione, not to mention each other. Bill and Charlie were so social and popular that anyone that ever met them immediately liked them. For being a boring berk, Percy seemed to just manage to make everything in his family so much worse. He'd absolutely wrecked it when he'd left.

_You were so wrong,_ Percy thought constantly. _You don't have a family anymore. Why would they take you back?_ _Your marriage is fake. Your wife threatens to take your own baby away from you every day because you feel so unhappy. And now, it's…_

Audrey nodded her head. "Who were you close to?" she took a sip from her tea. She looked pleased with it.

"Hermes," Percy finally decided to say, nodding in confirmation. "My—"

"Oh, that's nice," Audrey cut him off happily. "It's so important to have a support system these days. I was beginning to be afraid that you genuinely had nobody in the world that—"

Percy's throat hurt. "My…my owl," his voice was scratchy.

Hearing his name being called, Hermes proudly flew into the room. He settled straight onto an oak table, pushing his chest up in pride. Percy smiled weakly when he saw him just sat there, glowing. "Yes, well… he likes the attention," he said.

She cleared her throat, looking a little flushed after he'd just put her into an uncomfortable spot.

Audrey had a look that really unsettled him. "What about your wife?" she asked. "Your mother? Your siblings—if you…well, you _are_ a Weasley, so I can't pretend that I don't know that you have a few," she smiled weakly.

"No," Percy replied. "If…if I am correct to believe that if you have a close relationship with someone, you are able to say something without fear of judgment," he looked over at Audrey, and she slowly nodded her head. Percy just shook his head. He would never be able to tell anyone how he felt. "They'd laugh at me if they knew," he whispered. "I am... so alone."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a sadness overwhelm him. Percy felt Audrey's hand on his shoulder.

"Knew what?" Audrey's voice was so soft, so welcoming that he found himself just crumbling away like a lemon biscuit.

"How I'm like," answered Percy in a whisper. He was disappointed in himself. If fifth year him could see him right now, he'd be absolutely horrified at what had become of him.

"How are you like?" she smiled a little weakly. "Or more appropriately, how do you _think_ you're like?"

Percy paused for a moment, staring at this room that he'd been living in for months now. It was dark here. It was warm and comfortable, with couches that had familiar splotches and stains and tables that smelled of sulphur and old wood. There were boxes stacked on top of each other and orange-yellow wallpapers that were dirtied and sticky. Two days ago, Percy saw a flobberworm crawl out of a yoghurt pot that he was going to eat. Molly's bottles were kept into a bottle steriliser, away from bits of congealed oatmeal and tiny little doxies that found a refuge in pots and pans that hadn't been used since 1918.

"Difficult," Percy decided to finally say after a few moments of contemplation.

Audrey just kept staring at him with those attentive, warm eyes, listening to him. It was very unnerving to have someone just listen to him. "Difficult," she reiterated. She spoke as if she was rolling the word around her tongue, as if she were tasting it. Percy could feel the weight of that word, looming over him like a curse. There was not a person in the whole forsaken world that would disagree with that. Audrey just stared down at his hands, noticing how they shook as he held his cup.

"You think you're difficult?" Audrey finally asked. She sounded dubious. She knew him for all of twenty minutes, so it wasn't like she had a good idea of how he was really like. "I think you _want_ to talk to me but probably just…won't," she concluded, but Percy bet she'd already made tons of other assumptions about him that she hadn't told him yet. He could see it in her eyes she'd already put him in categories and classifications and Percy hadn't even done so much as cough out three sentences yet!

"I doubt that," Percy muttered. See? He was being difficult right now. "Do I look like I want to talk to anyone?"

Audrey just smiled at him weakly. "Well, you do," she said. "Otherwise, why would I come to that conclusion?"

He said nothing because he couldn't think of a comeback. He had no mental energy to come up with anything worth saying so he just sat there in silence, sipping his tea and wondering how long she was staying here because suddenly, he was _so_ tired, and he couldn't think of talking anymore. Now exhausted, Percy's inhibitions were so low he might start actually sharing his feelings. "And I suppose you're here to listen?" he inquired coldly.

"If you'd like. And I think that you do," Audrey replied softly. "Don't you?" she stared at him with glossy amber eyes.

Percy felt his hands shake and slowly nodded his head. "Yes," he decided to say after a while. "If you'd… please," he said with an almost desperation to his voice.

Audrey's face remained unchanged, expressionless, and indifferent but somehow warm and inviting. "Percy?"

"I'm not a good person," the words came tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could imagine. "I…I deserve this."

His younger siblings were out there probably stopping a war with Harry Potter. His older siblings were involved in the super-secret organization called the Order of The Phoenix. And he was sitting here, doing absolutely nothing but bringing his family pain and misery. He'd even ruined little Molly's life the second that she was born to a father like him.

Audrey looked a little confused. "What do you mean you—" he cut her off.

"I left my family. I left _everybody_," Percy's voice was shaking. "For a job that I…I don't even want anymore. For a job I have killed myself in Hogwarts for," he said that part bitterly. He closed his eyes so tightly and balled his hands into fists. His face flushed with anger and his fists went bone white. "I have destroyed _EVERYTHING_ for-for… _nothing! _Absolutely nothing."

"I suppose that's no shocker to you! I bet you've been inferring things about me all night! And they're probably true."

Percy bet that he was starting to look particularly unhinged. "Why don't you tell me what you've noticed?" he asked. "That I wouldn't even greet you at the door because I'm panicked by the prospect of walking outside into my own lawn? That you've met vampires that are less allergic to sunlight than I am? That I somehow manage to be a permanent victim?"

He closed his eyes, feeling fat teardrops fall onto his lap. "What is it that you _really_ think about me, Miss Brown?"

At the time, Percy didn't care if he never worked again. Why would he care? It wasn't like he was seeing anyone or having anyone tell him that his accomplishments were wonderful. The only reason he even bothered to go through the mountain of work that he did these days was just so that he could pay for this house's general expenditures!

Audrey opened her mouth. "I…" she said after a pause. "I think that you need help, Percy. And I want to help you."

Percy opened his mouth to retort but found himself going silent. "I'm… difficult," he weakly complained.

"Hey," Audrey smiled weakly with a shine to her eyes. She didn't refuse or comfort him, probably because she didn't know him enough to actually think that he was difficult. This soothed him somehow, knowing she was at least a little sensible—well, he supposed as sensible as one could be when they smelled like a flower shop imploded. "How about we go outside a little bit?" she carefully asked. "The fresh air will clear your head and we can talk more there."

"That's not possible," Percy quickly said. "I—I…I can't just—!"

"Leave?" Audrey asked softly, and he realised that she just wanted to prove a point. Percy opened his mouth to protest, but he found it hard to say anything. What was he going to say? _No, let's go out now and prove how normal I am? _Percy just stayed quiet and seething. "Are you… _scared_ to leave this house?" when she asked that, his facial expressions remained unchanged.

"Of course not," Percy quickly responded. "People living in their safe houses wish they could leave, not…"

"Plenty of people become agoraphobic during the war," Audrey tried to soothe his pain. Percy stared at her, feeling unsettled. She made it sound like a nutter and then tried to make it sound like it was normal not to have all your gobstones. What next? Everyone went to a psychiatric facility every once in a while? Percy just scoffed. "With the looming threat of Death Eaters, plenty of people have panic attacks if they try to leave their home. And that, over time just—"

"I am not afraid of Death Eaters, Miss Brown," Percy plainly said, stiffening his back.

"But you can't leave the house, Percy," Audrey's resolve didn't waver. "Even if your reason is might be different, it's not normal to a be afraid of being outside for any reason." She paused. "So, what is _your_ reason?"

Percy just shook his head. "I'm not afraid of leaving the house," he was starting to become a little tense.

Audrey ignored him. "What do you think about when you do?" she asked softly. "When you go outside?"

"Nothing," Percy replied forcefully. Why did this woman, who he knew for all of twenty minutes, become so insistent about him opening up to her? He didn't open up to his own family! He was going to talk to her? This was laughable. And why did he agree to this? Penelope must be having a real laugh if she thought that this was going to help him any.

When he didn't answer this, Audrey put down her mug. "How do you expect me to understand if you don't tell me?"

Percy scoffed, but Audrey just sighed deeply. "Percy, you're being so…"

"Difficult?" Percy primed, but she refused to agree to that. She just stared at him with hardened eyes. "Fine. I'll tell you."

Audrey didn't look like she believed him. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning backwards.

"When I leave this house, Miss Brown, I feel…" feeling his chest ache, Percy closed his eyes. He thought of the sunlight on his shoulders and felt uncomfortable. "It feels like everyone notices every move I make—and not in the _I suspect that you're a raging Death Eater_ manner but in a way that… makes me feel like my existence is pointless and that I should just…"

He cleared his throat. Would you go out if you could feel just how fragmented you were next to society? Especially if it was just for a carton of milk? If you felt going out made you feel like you shouldn't exist, would you leave the house?

"If… if my brothers, and sister, and I were still talking to each other, they'd probably tell me to come off it," Percy scoffed. "They'd be in disbelief that I could be so self-centred that I'd think that the whole world is noticing anything that _I_ do. And they'd be absolutely right! I'm not so daft that I believe that this is what people think of me—Miss Brown, I have 12 O.W.L's, thank you very much and I doubt they'd give the Minister this level of attention—but… it's how it _feels_." He shook his head. "For context, my father and I had a particularly horrible fight years ago. I left my family… well, I've practically disowned them. Not that they care that I did, of course. They didn't even bother changing my mind."

He felt tears burning into his eyes. Percy didn't know why he bothered being alive most days. Even little Molly would probably grow up to resent him. What kind of a father would he be if he was scared of his own bloody shadow?

"I know I never met your family, Percy, but is there a chance that this is how you think they'll react?" Audrey said in a soft voice. "And not how they'd actually react?" she placed a hand on his arm, and it was like a jolt of electricity to his heart. "Do you think that maybe they'd be compassionate about this? That they'd be worried that you feel this way?"

"Maybe," Percy rubbed the tears from his eyes before they fell. "If I wasn't so difficult."

WHEN George finished reciting the story, he felt particularly depressed. "You are bloody 'difficult', you twat," George found himself snapping and Percy practically jolted from where he was floating. "Do you think that we wouldn't care about you turning into-into _this?"_ he gestured towards Percy's form. George shook his head, strands of his thick (luscious, if he was to add) red hair falling in front of his eyes. "Maybe…maybe not in the beginning. We'd think you're just having a laugh, not that you know what a joke really is, but…" George could imagine that when they realised how ill Percy was, they wouldn't be able to take it. "Godric, I would've stuck you into St Mungo's asylum myself if I knew how you were like!"

Percy flinched, and then bit down his lower lip. "I'm not…" his voice trailed off, because he knew that he was a lie.

When George noticed how absolutely heartbroken Percy was, he felt his chest ache. "Hey," he paused. "Perce?"

Bill cleared his throat and then smiled over at Percy. George wondered how everyone would feel like if they could see him there. He wondered how this all felt like to them. George couldn't bloody believe it and he was looking at him. And apparently, sharing thoughts with him! How did it feel like knowing that someone you loved had died in such a horrible manner and you couldn't even _see_ them?

"Did you ever think about telling us?" Bill's voice was full of so much pain that George felt his heart crush into pieces.

Percy looked like he was contemplating this. "I did tell you," he smiled weakly. "But you…threw it into the fire."

George felt like he'd been slapped across the face. Never did he want to turn back time to stop Ron from yelling at their mum to throw it into the fire. Ginny stole the package and letter away from Molly's hand and nobody did so much as yell at her for it. "The letter," he echoed as a response to Bill, who winced as he reminisced.

Bill's eyes were transfixed on the floor. "Merlin, Perce, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Percy," his voice was so tender and kind. "What…what did you write in it?"

Everyone was staring at George as if he were Merlin himself, waiting for that answer. Percy just bit down his lower lip. "That I needed help," Percy finally replied. "That I was so sorry for the fight, but that… I was dying in this house. That I was scared and that…this hurt. And that I begged…" he looked to be in visible pain. "That you wouldn't let me die alone."


	12. There Were Five!

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Twelve: There Were Five!

* * *

After Percy's confession, the whole room stayed silent for what felt like ages.

The silence was heavy. Percy wasn't meeting anyone's eyes. He had his ghostly pale hands placed on his lap and was sat leg-crossed and floating.

"Despite my earlier reactions when we first met," Percy met with George's eyes. "I've forgiven you a long time ago."

Did you know what was worse than having to know that someone you loved died in such a horrible manner? Them forgiving you for it. If Percy had told George off and said that he should rot in Azkaban, he'd deal with the guilt better.

George just shook his head. "Look, Perce, you know that we couldn't stop Fred from dying," he still had nightmares about it. He couldn't have done a single thing to save him, and he still felt this aching guilt crush him. "But we could've helped you! All we had to do to help you was read a letter, Percy! How are we—how did _you_—get over that?" he almost wished that they could go back to the first two days where they were fighting and threatening each other's lives. This relaxed Percy made him feel like a real arsehole. "A letter!"

"Well, it could've gotten misplaced," Percy's lip twitched. "Accidentally. In mum's fireplace." He couldn't believe this.

Percy was fiddling with his thumbs. "Besides, it's not like you've ever been able to read my handwriting to begin with…"

"Are you joking?" George's eyes were wide. Percy looked amused, as if he was in on an inside joke only he knew about. Yes, amused. He was bloody amused after he just told George that he was begging his family not to let him die alone. _Ha__ ha_. How hilarious. George was sat here, bursting into laughter now! "About this? Are you seriously sat here, joking about the fact that you've died all alone in this house eight years back and nobody knew? Some family we are." He then noticed Arthur wince, and then smiled apologetically. "Sorry, dad, I didn't mean that."

"You should," Arthur muttered under his breath. "And I think that you do mean it. And you have a right to say it. It's the truth."

"You couldn't have known Percy got sick," Ginny tried to soften the blow. "Nobody could've predicted this."

"Nobody could've predicted that _Percy_ would go crazy?" Ron found that hard to believe. George saw Percy scoff.

Percy smiled weakly. "George, it's alright," his voice softened. "I apologise if…if my anger and my disbelief initially caused you to feel otherwise. I had a lot of anger and I had nobody to express it to. Please, forgive me."

George thought that Percy really was mad. "You're sorry for yelling at me for not noticing you were _dead?"_

Percy flinched, and then nodded his head. George wondered what Percy did all day long. He spent a lot of time being asleep for someone that required no sleep whatsoever. But he doubted that he talked to anyone. Did he just spend his time reading the same six volumes of the same copy of _History of Magic?_ Did he just roam around, staring at all the things he'd hoarded over the years and insist that this was how a home was supposed to look like? What did you do for eight years with no form of genuine communication with anyone whatsoever? When you were present but might as well not exist because nobody saw you? What was it like existing but not being able to do anything? Just floating… aimless. Gone? How could you forgive your family for letting you become that when they could've saved you if they just gave you the fucking time of day?

"What?" Ron stared at George like he'd put that idea in Percy's head. "What next? It's okay that your house ate you up?"

A smile faded away from Percy's face. "I will not scold you just to make you feel better," he raised an eyebrow. "Besides, it's not like you've ever listened to anything I've ever said," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ron, just leave him alone," Bill decided to say. "Our brother is gone and you're making fun of him for moving on?"

Before George could say anything, Percy appeared in front of Bill and stared at him with translucent-looking eyes. Percy reached over to feel the scars on his face. George was holding his breath, eyes focused on the angry red scars in Bill's face. He sometimes forgot that Bill didn't always look like that, and thinking about it made him remember the feelings he had when he first learned that Bill got attacked.

"Percy," Bill squirmed uncomfortably, holding his wrists. "I wish…" he paused. "I wish I can see you."

"We all do," Charlie supplemented softly, as if Percy didn't know. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "Perce?"

"Please…" Percy looked a little disturbed by this, but he moved backwards. "Please don't ask me that again."

In a few seconds, he was back next to George, suspended in air. George knew that he had to help Percy through this. He should be telling his story to his family. They should be able to see him. _What are you afraid of, Perce?_ George wondered, but Percy didn't answer him. It was plenty obvious to George that Percy just didn't want to be seen.

"You know how to, don't you? You know how to show yourself to other people?" George confronted him, and Percy slowly nodded his head. "You just…don't _want_ to anymore." He supposed that when they were fighting, Percy couldn't exactly mention that little piece of information without things becoming out of control. "They can hear you, if you want them to, can't they? But you just don't want the to." Percy didn't answer back, but George knew that it had to be true.

"You can do that?" Ginny asked, looking at George with hopeful eyes. "We can see you? If you wanted to?"

Molly looked a little teary-eyed, and Percy was avoiding eye contact. "What's wrong, love? What are you scared of?"

Arthur placed a hand on Molly's arm, and just smiled at her. "Mollywobbles, just let him do what he wants," his voice was a whisper, but it echoed through the room. His father had never been great at being quiet. "Please."

"Of course," Molly nodded her head, looking almost shameful for asking a perfectly normal question. "Um… Percy, I just want to let you know that you can come to us if you want. I promise that…that…" She really tried, but how could you comfort someone you couldn't even see? Who you hadn't seen in ten years? What were you going to say? That you've really changed now? Because that didn't really do anything. How would that help someone that had already died? "I love you," she decided to say instead.

George kept his eyes on Percy, even when Percy refused to look at him.

"I… I've been dead for eight years, George," Percy said softly. "And people…they listen to you."

"What do you mean they listen to me?" George asked, replying a little forcefully and dubiously. Percy looked seriously comfortable. "What? You're afraid you're going to open that big fat mouth of yours and somehow, everyone is going to leave you alone forever?" he snapped coldly.

Percy just stood there silently, but then after a few seconds, nodded his head. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I do."

Charlie was reading George's facial expressions. "Perce, you don't…you don't have to worry about that anymore," he tried to reason with him. "Okay?"

Percy just shook his head. "That's easy for you to say," he was eerily quiet, which made George really wish that Charlie would've just shut his bloody mouth. "I meant it when I said I forgive you…but I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone anymore."

George couldn't believe Percy's logic. His family would rather listen to Percy in his own words. This wasn't an improvement, but George didn't need to ask him twice. He could see the tortured look on Percy's face. He genuinely believed that nobody wanted to hear his own story from him. He still really believed that nobody liked him and that if he just somehow talked, the illusion would collapse.

Percy cleared his throat. "Should I continue?" he looked like he was pleading with him almost. George nodded his head.

"Sure, Perce," George wished that he could say no, but how could you deny someone like that anything?

ROGER Davies visited Percy Weasley a month after Molly was born with a stuffed pastel pink Niffler as a gift.

Baby Molly looked at it for approximately two seconds before she lost interest and then returned to sleeping a million hours a day. His beautiful baby cared about toys about as much as Ron would care about new advancements in Potion Making. But as if Percy cared. He would—and had—completely covered his room with stuffed owls and educational age-appropriate Transfiguration-based toys. Molly may be a drooling little angry beetroot that was covered in more rashes than a healer's dermatological textbook, but he was absolutely entranced by her. It was like she was purely made from Amortentia. His new favourite activity was ignoring the mountains of work that he had just to stare at her all day long. Percy didn't know that there was anything in the world that could take precedence over his most urgent work documents until she was born.

Roger was chattering on to him about Magizoology whilst Percy was changing her nappy.

"Amazing, really amazing," Roger was nodding off to himself as he rattled on and on. "I feel like if I pushed myself this year, I'd find something big. There's already been three Magizoologists this year that have discovered new things about subduing chimeras. None of these as big as Scamander's contributions of course… you'd need some sort of a miracle to top that. Like finding out a secret world or a new species of something! Which you know, Percival, is virtually impossible." He cleared his throat. "If Luna Lovegood actually found one of the creatures _The Quibbler_ talks about, then maybe we'd—"

"Is work all you think about, Roger?" Percy yawned. Roger snorted, almost laughing at him. "Can I ask you a question?" Roger nodded. "Did people see me as this relentless and irritating at school?"

"Yes," answered Roger almost immediately with a beaming smile.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Thank you for being so kind." At least he was honest.

Roger sighed deeply. "Well, you have your baby, and you know, your…well, I guess your house but some of us actually still have to work to find any kind of fulfillment."

Yes, he did have his baby. And wait, did he say _house?_ Percy was sure that he didn't hear that correctly. There was—

"House?" Percy echoed as he looked up. His heart was hammering in his chest. He hadn't told anyone but Penelope about how he felt like being at home and she was under the assumption that he was afraid of being attacked by Death Eaters. Nobody said anything about his 'agoraphobia', or so Audrey insisted on calling it. Percy didn't think that he was that bad. He felt like if he really had to, he'd leave the house, but since he couldn't without crippling fear, why would he? If you got swollen up after eating strawberries, was the cure just eating more strawberries? "Err… what do you—"

"About your agoraphobia," Roger shrugged, as if was the most obvious thing in the world. "You haven't left the house in ages… and don't you think I don't notice how dim it is downstairs? There are Death Eater dungeons with more lighting."

Roger tugged at the sleeves of his robes. "Um…" Roger shifted uncomfortably in his spot. "I guess you're scared of sunlight?"

Percy closed his eyes, feeling shame fill him. "Well, I have horrible migraines!" he lamely mentioned. For all that Roger would know, he really might have severe splitting migraines all of the time that made him lie in foetal position. With the amount of stress that he was under, it was amazing that he wasn't completely catatonic and in bed really! So, why was it so hard for people to believe what he said? Well, it was a lie, but he didn't think it was _that_ far-fetched, you know?

"I'm sure you do, and I'm sure they miraculously started appearing when your life started falling apart—but I suppose that's not for me to say," Roger mentioned sarcastically before clearing his throat. "How are you and Penny?"

Percy shifted uncomfortably. "Penny?" he sounded like it was the first time he'd heard of her. Not a great premise.

"You know, Penny…? Your wife? The one who had your baby? That Penny?" Roger smirked. "How's your relationship?"

"Nonexistent," Percy didn't remember the last time he even had a conversation with her these days. They might as well be living in a different house. He just knew that sometimes; he woke up to hear muffled cries from Molly coming from Penelope's room. "Although I'm sure that you're already aware of that. Considering you actually _talk_ to Penny."

"I suppose I do," Roger agreed. "Do you think that it was gonna work out? Between you two or do you…you know?"

Percy shook his head. He didn't know what happened. One day, they were together and in love and she supported him and was enamored by his ambition and drive. The next minute, he'd left his family for her and found out that she didn't want to be with him if he wasn't 100% focused on becoming Minister before he was thirty! The marriage was just a contract so that their child was not illegitimate. It was like they were already sharing custody of Molly. And now, he didn't exactly know what to do anymore.

"I used to think we would," Percy admitted, but he didn't know if she could deal with him anymore. "But I… changed."

Percy didn't think that anyone could tolerate him right now, not even his own family. Who would want him like this?

"Your agoraphobia," Roger surmised, only to get a glare from Percy. But he was so right. What else could it be? His psychiatric healer told him that he had this, but it just sounded so… mental. Like the type of person that would lock themselves in the house even when it was on fire. But Percy already alid awake at night, trying to think of how he was going to leave even if this house collapsed overnight. He didn't know if he could. He was safe here and the second that he was outside, it was like his neurons were on fire from all the thoughts that plagued him. It would be a miracle if he could take a step outside without the thoughts paralysing him. "It's okay to talk about it, you know. I don't think you're completely mental just because you're hoarding every scrap of rubbish you could get your hands on and have spontanoeusly developed a sunlight allergy overnight."

"You… don't?" Percy reiterated in disbelief. Because he had this and he thought that he was mental.

"Penny told me about it," Roger finally said, probably giving Percy a coronary in succession. "Your… agoraphobia. She told me."

"Penny?" Percy reiterated in confusion. His wife had never done so much as mention this to him. As far as he knew, she never thought that he had such a problem to begin with. "_Penny_ said that I had a problem?" he was stunned.

He had been noticing that she was flippant in the rare times they interacted, but he didn't think about it.

Roger stared at Percy with surprise but then he slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, Perce," his voice was soft. "She's worried about you. She says that she thinks that you're becoming so unhinged. She's scared you're going to…" his voice trailed off, and he looked away from Percy's face. Roger's sad blue eyes were focused on the floor. "She's scared about you being around Molly," he admitted.

Percy took a sharp inhale and could practically feel the whole world crashing down before him.

"Look, I know that you're okay...well, not okay, but you're not that bad! But she doesn't," Roger cleared his throat. "And I can't imagine what you're—"

"She's… what?" Percy asked in a pained voice. He looked like he'd been slapped as he looked down at his cot. The feelings that he'd been brewing for all these years attacked him full force. His own family didn't want nor cared if he died here in this house all alone for as long as he was against Dumbledore. His wife had about as much faith in him as Snape would have in a potion addict transporting pain potions to St Mungo's. He suddenly felt so alone, and it hurt so much. Tears started filling his eyes and falling down his cheeks, but Percy was so sad that he didn't even care.

"She's scared about me being around my own daughter?" he felt so much anger and pain that he didn't know what to say.

"Hey, hey," Roger looked so conflicted. He probably wished he had a Time Turner so that they could go back to a minute ago where they were just talking about Roger's need to find some shocking discovery to make a name for himself. He placed a hand on Percy's shoulder and then squeezed it comfortingly. "It's okay," he whispered. "Hey… it's okay."

"_She's_ the one that did this to me!" Percy vigorously wiped away the tears from his eyes. "She…she…"

Roger pulled him close to him, and then wrapped his hands around him. "Hey," he sounded a little panicked. "It's okay."

"It's not fair," Percy whined. He didn't exactly sound like someone that was taking care of an infant. He sounded so juvenile. It sent a chill down his spine to know how he must've come across to Roger. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down as Roger patted on his back awkwardly. He looked like he really cared.

Roger stiffened, eyes on the clock. "Bollocks," he said. "I'm late for work. I—" he broke them apart, flushing deeply.

"Oh," Percy was flushing too, because Roger was just talking about how he wanted to make a better name for himself. He supposed showing up thirty minutes late to your job wasn't exactly helping. "I apologise," he rubbed his neck.

"You're getting help, right?" Roger asked awkwardly now. He smoothed over his work robes. "For your…"

"Yes," Percy said, but he doubted that he'd be making marked improvements overnight. This was so stupid. He didn't have a problem with walking outside a few months back, but now, the thought was crippling? Even he didn't believe him. Even he didn't know what to do with himself.

After Percy answered, Roger didn't actually apparate away immediately. He was shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"Hey," Roger's voice softened. "If you need anything at all, just owl me. Any time."

Percy didn't know what he'd need help with, but he nodded, rubbing his still-teary eyes. He was so embarrassed that he was in this kind of a position to begin with, but it had been so long since someone was so nice to him that it made him want to cry even more. Percy never so desperately just wanted to go back home and have his mum fix everything for him, but what exactly would he say? And how could he even leave this house to begin with? Even the thought of being in the Burrow sent him into a straight panic! Even if he wanted to apologise, how would he?

He nodded his head. "Thank you," Percy said, meaning it with all of his heart. Roger nodded his head, and disapparated away, leaving Percy alone with his thoughts.

For the next few days, piles of infant growth formula, photo albums, and sleepsuits seemed to double overnight.

Percy spent the next few days feeling fidgety. The reality of his situation truly dawned on him and made him feel restless.

He could barely sleep without thinking about what people must think of him. How much his wife hated him. How his daughter deserved so much better than him. He thought of the Burrow, wondering if his family even thought about him at all anymore. Percy thought about a world outside of his own—and every time that he did, he felt so powerless. He ceased to exist anymore beyond these four walls. He doubted that any of his parents or his siblings would be knocking at his door, demanding to see him, worried about him, wondering what had happened to him. There were days where Percy really wanted to leave, but the second he stepped outside of the house, he felt like he was about to have a heart attack and die out on the lawn all alone. Then what would happen to him? Then who was going to save him in an emergency? _Where will you go?_ He thought whenever he had this intractable urge to leave this house. Really. Where would he go?

In the days that he didn't have to take care of Molly, Percy just stayed in bed for most of the day, barely moving at all.

Even though he tried to sleep most days, he hadn't really been able to. As he stressed out about piles of work he didn't want to do anymore, he flipped through children and infant's catalogues, and bought things that he knew they didn't need.

But he couldn't help himself. Every time there was a package at the door, the day felt special and new.

How else was he supposed to make each day seem different? The packages were now the highlight of his day. He bought anything and everything under the sun. Percy bought things he didn't need, and some of them he'd never even opened! But he didn't know how to stop. Every time he woke up, he felt so empty and sad. His house had started to feel so big and overwhelming. He felt the need to fill it with paper cups, discounted prams and yoghurt pots, or he'd never feel safe again. And seeing all these things around him sort of filled the hole inside of him that was so desperate for love.

Roger was so nice to him, but it made him realise how alone he was if he wasn't around. It made him wonder if this was really worth such this stupid fight between him and his father.

But if he wrote to him, what would he say? _I've become an actual recluse, but I want to apologise. Can you please drop by this address? I'll keep the door open. Don't open the lights because I've been living in complete darkness. By the way, I have a daughter. And I named her after mum even though I just keep breaking her heart. _

On a Tuesday evening in November, Penelope had taken Molly out on the pram to see her work mates in Diagon Alley, work mates that he'd never met. Honestly, with how things were like, he doubted that he was ever going to meet them. Percy was left alone at the house, trying to write his letter of resignation from the Ministry. The piles of paperwork he had to do every day was killing him and he could no longer even pretend to care about it. Hermes was sitting on his desk, keeping him company. Percy had been trying to explain to him what words he was picking and why. After all, he didn't want to sound like too much of a pompous prat. Of course, it was a little difficult. He wouldn't lie.

It was laughable, remembering that all of this started because he wanted to work for Fudge. Now, look at things now!

"Of course, I still need a way to have an income after this," Percy told Hermes, who just hooted in response. Percy was carefully sticking the folded letter into the envelope, but he wasn't going to send it just yet. "What do you suggest?" he realised how crazy he must sound like to most people. After all, he was asking an owl for advice! But Hermes was a very smart owl.

As Roger apparated into Percy's room, Hermes whizzed past by him and nearly knocked him flat on his arse.

"Bollocks!" Roger yelled, placing a hand on his chest as he hyperventilated. Percy just smirked from where he was sitting.

He had been practically living in his pyjamas. What was the point of getting dressed up these days anyway? He was in a pair of old pink-and-blue broomstick pyjamas he found hidden in the back of his closet from where he'd haphazardly stuffed all the clothes he'd packed. He'd also bought tons of new pyjamas off a catalogue even though his closet was overstuffed.

His bed was covered in boxes of baby bottles of all sizes, formulas in different tastes, books that he'd read already in different covers, dozens of his favourite shampoos, cologne and shaving cream in case they ever went out of stock (really, he was just preparing for a disaster) and that was… well, the most organised part of the room. He had a closet with clothes spilling out of it, dozens of Quidditch equipment just in case he might ever need it, and more potions than an apothecary flying about everywhere. He had dozens of mismatched carpets, one on top of each other, and a fridge overflowing with food he didn't even like. But if he ever became allergic to dairy or a diabetic, he was safe for the possible disaster. And that was important, right?

Roger looked around the room, and _tsk-tsk_ed.

"What?" Percy asked, as if Roger paling like a dragon was staring at him like a tasty snack was an abnormal response.

Roger gestured towards the room with his long, thin hands. "This is out of control!" he commented. "This is a bloody disaster." He looked repulsed. "How do you live in this?"

Percy just flushed deeply. Letting his shoulders sag, Roger sighed in defeat before he decided to sit down on the chair beside Percy. Well, he could really take his pick. Percy had about six chairs and a sofa in his room (he couldn't remember buying that). If his family could see his room right now, they'd laugh. It looked like a tornado blew through his room.

"Hey," Roger looked at him, and he looked ore than just a little worried. "I thought…you were trying to get better?"

Percy stared at the envelope on his desk. He under the implication behind those words. _Your house looks so much worse. You still haven't left the house since I've last been here_. Truth be told, he'd been cancelling Audrey's scheduled sessions via owl, and although she responded with concerned messages, he stuffed her letters out of sight since he had a problem with binning things. When Audrey came around, Percy didn't open the door. He didn't know why. It was like Percy didn't want to get any better anymore. But he also wanted to be normal so bad, so why was he doing this?

"She hasn't given Molly back to me in three days," Percy said in a whisper. Percy usually spent five days with Molly, and Penelope took her for two days. Percy didn't even see Penelope these days. It felt like overnight, he'd wake up and Molly would be in the cot and then when he'd go downstairs to eat, she'd be gone. "I haven't seen Penny in a month."

Roger placed a hand on Percy's, staring at him with a genuine look of concern. "So, what? This is helping?" he sounded spiteful.

Percy knew that Roger was concerned but he was sick of people being concerned about him. Percy just shook his head. "No," he admitted softly.

"And you haven't been seeing that woman," Roger stated. He probably noticed the amount of letters that were there downstairs on his living room, with Audrey begging to reach him and reconsider his options. Unfortunately, Percy's inability to throw things out was sending his home into a toxic state. He had boxes of leftover chicken breast, fruit and cottage cheese from his meals packed away in containers that were rotting away. He even found it hard to throw away food after it started to grow fuzzy. He didn't throw away finished hot cocoa packets or drunken bottled strawberry milkshakes.

Roger shook his head. He looked cross with him, "Unbelievable." He paused. "You need to go to the hospital."

Percy stiffened at the thought of leaving his house. "No, I don't," his eyes were wide. He was shaking and panicking like he was told that he was going to be thrown into Azkaban for littering. His hairline was filled with sweat and his hands were shaking like he was sat in sub-zero. He didn't even know where his thermostat was these days. The walls were covered in tons of wallpapers he didn't even like. But he'd bought them! So he had to use them, right?

Before Roger could answer, Hermes returned back with the latest copy of _Challenges in Charming_.

"Oh," Percy hadn't thought of ever writing for a periodical journal. He looked up at Hermes, who looked rather smug. Percy had even noticed that there was a huge block of text about commissioning per article in plain view. He had a few articles downstairs that he'd never finished from when he was researching how to make charms effective. "Thank you."

Hermes disappeared momentarily as Percy read the journal. He returned back promptly with a piping hot mug of milky tea.

Roger stared at Percy with a puzzled expression. "He gets you tea?" he echoed incredulously. "Owls can get tea?"

Percy just shrugged. "I never asked, but...well, my owl does." It was kind of incredible that Hermes had somehow trained himself to be able to do all these things for him. He'd never actually seen his owl open his fridge, take out milk and pour water into a kettle but he seemed to be able to do it. He could tell because sometimes, his talons would break open the tea bag and Percy had to fish tea leaves out of his mug. "But err…" he pushed the tea away and pulled out a date bar he had in his desk.

Roger shook his head, still baffled. "Percy, have you ever thought of going into Magizoology?"

"Do I _look_ like a Magizoologist to you?" Percy huffed with a roll of his eyes, stupefied that Roger just asked him if he ever thought of doing one of the most active, outdoorsy job possible. "I'm barely a paper pusher these days."

Percy opened the bar and offered it to Hermes, who promptly ate it. Percy was sure there were small puddles of tea outside from where it spilled a little as he brought the mug over to him. He remembered being eighteen and his father telling him off when Percy had to take Hermes to the animal healers because he'd burned his beak on hot kettle water.

Roger's eyes lit up with excitement. "Maybe you can help me," he paused. "And I can help you."

"Help you?" Percy looked more than a little bit confused. "Yes, from the safety of my own home," he said bitterly. "_I'm_ going to help you?"

Roger's pupils dilated and his lip twitched. "Err… um…" he was fluffing his sleeves. "I haven't really thought about that, you know. Your agoraphobia," could he stop saying it? "Do you have an idea?"

Percy thought about this for a few minutes. Could he help Roger Davis track down magical creatures from the comfort of his own house? Especially the kind of magical creatures that would make some form of great discovery? He looked back at the _Challenges in Charming_ journal in front of him and then cleared his throat. "You can create a summoning charm."

"Create a charm?" Roger looked at him like he was mental. Did you know the amount of work it took to make a spell? It took ages, and you had to be an incredibly smart wizard. And Merlin be good, the paperwork you'd have to…

Percy nodded his head. "In the one of the first issues of the Quibbler, there was an idea that wrackspurts should be able to be summoned to a dark room." He didn't exactly believe in Spectrespecs doing much. Although he owned about eleven pairs downstairs for no reason. "But I also remember reading from old wizarding text that they were useful before the wand-lighting spell was invited, and that spell was invited so long ago that there is a theory that wrackspurts couldn't be summoned by standard spells anymore. You'd have to have the same wavelength frequency from your spell that goes with their buzzing frequency and such spells were long extinguished. In fact, your wand doesn't even vibrate at that level of frequency anymore. Wand making has changed overtime."

Roger snorted. "And yet, the hat didn't put you into Ravenclaw," he replied in awe. "Wait_, you _believe in wrackspurts? You actually believe that rubbish that Xenophilius spurts out of his mouth?"

Percy nodded his head. "My rat companion turned out to be a sadistic monster, and my brother befriended the Boy Who Lived. Is it really _that_ odd that I believe in that _The Quibbler_ isn't based on hocus pocus?" he questioned.

"I guess not when you think about it that way," Roger cleared his throat. "You know, I'm jealous of you."

"Pardon?" Percy knew he didn't hear that correctly. He was jealous of the bloke that was 'allergic to sunlight'?

"You're so smart you can figure that out even though it doesn't concern you! I studied in three different countries in Magizoology spent my whole life thinking about how I'm going to achieve things that were greater than ole Newt Scamander and came back to England with absolutely no clue on how to go about it! I mean I've been faffing about for months!" Roger explained, but Percy still stared at him as if he was speaking in Elvish. "You know, not mentioning the obvious problems that you have…" he offered a weak smile. "It's a shame, really. You could've done great things."

He thought of all the times where he believed that he could. From when he was young and his mum realised how smart he was to getting some of the highest grades in Hogwarts. Most Ravenclaws respected him and he was a leader in debate teams and study groups. Not that his family ever knew or asked this, or even cared about it. Penelope fell in love with that youthful ambitious bloke that knew that he was going to do great things.

"I don't want to do great things," Percy said, for the first time in years. He'd been trying for years and now, he had nothing. He'd lost everything and he still hadn't done a single great thing in his life. His parents wouldn't care tomorrow if he was the Minister of Magic. Penelope wasn't going to trust him with Molly even if he knew more protection charms than Aurors because she thought that he was a danger to her. "I just want to be normal enough that people would like me."

And that sounded a lot harder than defeating Voldemort. He was pretty sure that he was lost cause. So, why should he even try? If you already had twenty years of experience telling you that no matter how hard you tried, it wasn't good enough, why would you try again anyway? Percy didn't know how Audrey was going to change any of that. Even if she managed to give him back his self-confidence, why would he care when everyone in the world hated him? When nobody wanted him anymore? Percy hadn't talked to his family in years, but they'd written him off! So, why should he bother?

"I'M just verbalising the event in time," Percy cut George off in his storytelling. "Not to say that I feel this way anymore. It's part of the story." He crossed his arms over his chest, but George just stared at this ghost of his brother. Not just dead, it was like bits of what made his brother Percy had just faded away over time. As if he'd felt they weren't good enough and just erased them from existence, just like the maggots ate his body and erased his presence in the world from them.

"Is that how little self-esteem you have, Perce?" George asked softly. "That you feel like you have to defend yourself before I even say anything?"

Percy looked a little embarrassed, but there was nothing embarrassing about this. It was kind of sad.

Percy rubbed his eyes. He could see tears were starting to form. How could a ghost cry? "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just—"

"Did you write Roger's book, Perce?" Charlie's soft brown eyes were big with surprise. "Did you?"

_This changes everything_. George opened his mouth to say it, but he felt so thirsty and his mouth was dry. He could read Percy's face so well. He knew that it was true. He knew that Charlie was right.

Turning his head to Charlie, George barely got out a "Yeah, he did" before the whole room erupted into cacophony.

"What?" Angelina even looked like she was stunned at this revelation. "He wrote Roger's—well, it's not _Roger's_ but…"

"Yes," George said, sounding more confident now. He couldn't bear to meet Percy's eyes right now. "Yes, he did."

"That bloody bastard wrote a book off something you helped him with and never mentioned you in one stinking page?" Ron finally mentioned. Hermione grabbed his arm to calm him down. "Some mate he was! Getting rich off you!"

Charlie looked betrayed, figuring out the truth about his hero. That Roger was just a lying arsehole. Which George knew all along!

"No, no!" Percy stuck his hands up. "It's rather the opposite," he said. "I've written the book, and he wanted to publish it in _my_ name with photography credits to him but…" he trailed off. "I owled the publishing company and paid them to change it to Roger's name at the last second. He was very livid about it and confronted me but…" he just shrugged.

"_YOU_ wrote Roger Davies' book and then refused to take credit for it?" George asked. Percy was his ghost writer—literally! But the most bloody confusing one to date!

Percy withdrew a little. "Yes," he confessed. "Yes, I've written that book…and about five others in the series but—"

"Perce, are you bloody mental? Why didn't you let Davies publish the book in _YOUR_ name if you were the one that wrote it? Do you know that people are still reading that stupid book now?" George yelled. "Charlie's read it about a million times since it was published. Hell, he asked your best friend, Davies, to sign it about a hundred times. Every year, Percy, every year they do a gigantic book signing. Every year since it was published! It's still a number one best seller everywhere in the world! Roger Davies received an Order of Merlin for that book—_YOUR_ book!"

George felt like his brain exploded. There were _five more books?_ From the same book that was a best-seller for forever now?

He stared at Percy like he'd really lost it. Did he never think to mention this when George told him off for having nothing? He had a bloody legacy now in his hands and made sure that nobody knew that he was the one that wrote it? And why didn't he ever tell him that he had written something that was so famous now?

Percy flinched, but just stared down at the ground. "Well, Roger _is_ alive…" he trailed off. "And I'm not certified enough to—"

"Rubbish!" George couldn't believe what Percy was trying to tell him. "You think that Magizoologists are going to be picking at you because you don't have a degree? Well, that bloody explains why he doesn't know what he's bloody doing and why he's been reaping the benefit of that one book for years! I mean, does Roger even know there are five more?"

"There are five more?" Charlie was practically hyperventilating. "There are five more books?"

He could hear Hermione mention something to Ron about how right she was. Whatever, George didn't care.

"Yes," Percy whispered, looking meek. "But he refused to publish them if they weren't under my name."

George looked stunned, as he stared at Percy. "How could those books get published under you without him having to tell the truth? And would he really do that? He would publicly go about, telling people that he profited off your book? Do you know how big of a name he is right now?" it made him wonder what was going on. Percy had gone from one extreme to another. The first being that he wanted everyone to know every blasted thing he did, and now, he published a book that literally changed the face of the wizarding world but refused to stake claim on it?

Percy shrugged. "I don't know if he would, George," he answered honestly. "But I certainly wouldn't ask him to."


	13. Reunion

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Thirteen: Reunion

* * *

_You ruined his life_. George tossed and turned in the Burrow couch trying to sleep. Upstairs, he could hear that noisy baby Hugo wail like he'd just been pulled out of his mum's womb. _He was just a bloody kid. And you ruined it for him._

For the rest of the day, George felt heavily disoriented. The Weasley spent half the night crying when they came back to the Burrow, just like they'd done every day so far. It was hard to imagine that this was part of a grieving process when George still spoke to Percy all the time. When they were away from the house, it really hit him that things weren't going to be okay with Percy in the way they wanted to ever again. His mum cleaned the living room for the first time in days and Hermione and Ginny helped her. Angelina tried to talk to him about how he felt, but George just wrote his feelings off. He didn't feel anything anymore. At night, they all came together to eat a gigantic Sunday roast, but all George could think about was Percy. When was the last time that they had a Sunday roast with him? When was the last time that Percy had told him off for eating all his pint of Honeyduke's butterscotch and chocolate ice-cream in the freezer?

_George, you do know I can hear you wallowing in sorrow?_ Percy made him jolt of his thoughts. Merlin, he nearly gave him a heart attack going about doing...ghostly things! _You did not ruin my life. As far as I'm concerned, you didn't really murder me. Well, I suppose what you did at my graduation could be construed as attempted murder…_

This didn't make George smile. _You should be here_, George thought with a longing. _Mum would've made you what you wanted if you were here. Even that disgusting nut loaf that only YOU like!  
_

There was no story that was going to plug that hole that was in his chest. They were always going to think about this. They were always going to think about how they could've saved him—and yet, they didn't. Because of a stupid fight.

_It's alright_, Percy's voice was weak. _It really is._ George was sick of Percy telling him that everything was fine.

_You can't come to the Burrow, can you? This place would feel like every other house in the world,_ George looked down at his plate and felt queasy. It was roast chicken with all the trimmings. Molly had stuck a chicken in the oven before they'd left for Percy's and it had been basting and cooking in its juices. If only Percy could be here to see how his family didn't even have an appetite now. Charlie had eaten about six peas, and Ginny might as well be crying in the gravy pot. It wasn't exactly the family dinner that they'd been looking forward to all week.

_You grew up here, Perce,_ George thought with a heavy heart. _This__ should be your home._

Percy loved roast dinners. Well, he didn't look like he liked eating much of anything anymore, but he used to be so normal. He used to read books and have opinions and fight with them over who was going to take custody of the new stuff that Arthur brought back home. George remembered being a child and thinking about how he hated how his mum always sided with Percy. If there was a couple of shiny new trousers, they'd always go to Percy. _He's tall_, Molly would say, but it didn't matter how tall or short, fat or skinny, ginger or copper Percy was. He'd been her favourite most of his life.

He waited for Percy to tell him that it was his home before they'd ruined it for him. He didn't.

_Stop being so bloody nice, Perce_, George put down his spoon and fork after eating just a few bites of chicken and the smallest amount of mashed potatoes that he'd ever had in his life._ I'm sure you're dying to mention how we've lobbed you with mashed parsnips! After that, how could you ever think that this place is a home? After we turned your room into Hugo's nursery? After we snapped your handle off the family clock? How can you honestly say that you've forgiven us after all that happened? _

George bit down on his lower lip so hard that he was drawing blood, but he got no response from Percy. Typical.

_If we didn't have that fight, you'd be here_. It was the statement that George thought about all the time. He couldn't imagine the amount of guilt that Arthur felt. He probably wanted to take back the fight every day now.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Ron's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He playfully had to shove George's shoulder just to get a reaction out of him. "Mum asked if you wanted any butter with your potatoes, so I just went ahead and said yes for you."

"Eat your food, George," Molly warned him, as she scooped up butter from the tub in front of her. "You're looking pale."

George pulled out his plate. Molly smacked a giant knob of butter in his potatoes. "Thanks, mum," he said sarcastically. The smells from the melting butter made him even more nauseated. How did pregnant woman do this?

Ron didn't leave him alone though. "What were you thinking about?" George just shrugged. "Yeah, I don't believe you."

Ginny inched her chair a little closer to Ron and George. "Is it about Percy?"

Ron rolled her eyes. "Everything is about Percy, Gin, and you're talking to the Git Whisperer here."

"Yeah," George couldn't believe that he was the quiet one at the table. Charlie and Bill were talking to each other about something related to Gringott's bank system, and Hermione was rattling off about how often Hugo needed to feed. It wasn't exactly the kind of spirited conversation he wanted to join in on. And no matter what anyone was talking about, there was this looming darkness over the room. As if there was a topic that nobody was discussing right now.

"Well, I can sort of hear Percy speak in my head," George explained. "He told me to stop wallowing in my sorrow."

Ginny just stared at him like he was the one that was going mental. He wasn't hallucinating! He swore.

"I didn't know you and Percy shared a womb," Ron said a little forcefully. George flinched.

"He can do it to me, but I can't do it to him. He said I could technically, but obviously, I don't have eight years of being dead to help me figure out how to," George tried to explain. He didn't want to imagine some of the horrible things that Percy had read off him in the past few days. He wondered if he could do it to the rest of the family?

"Oh," Ginny answered, but stayed quiet. "Of course, _you_ can hear Percy from another part of Devon. Of course."

"What's that, love?" Molly perked up, just getting clued into the conversation.

"George can hear Percy even when he's not in the same room as him," Ron explained, looking irritated.

George was confused. "Why are you acting like it's my fault?" he didn't understand the hostility.

"_BECAUSE_ you don't know how bloody lucky you are!" Ron told him off. "He _chose_ you to see him." Ron then cocked his head to the side and said, "Perce, for some reason, trusts you more than he does dad, mum or the rest of us! Even though you and Fred were horrible to him. And do you know how it's like for us? That he can but doesn't want to see us?"

Bill stiffened uncomfortably. "Mum, these roast potatoes are great," he said quietly. "Better than the ready-made mash."

"Err… thank you, love," Molly didn't comment on how Bill hadn't even eaten any of the potatoes on his plate. "I—"

Bits of gravy flew all over Arthur's new white shirt, but it didn't look like he cared. "Ron, we're not there on our terms, I hope you realise," he told him in a calm but stern voice. "We're there on Percy's terms, and we can only be grateful for—"

_"IF IT WASN'T FOR ME BUYING THAT HOUSE, YOU'D HAVE NEVER KNOWN THAT HE DIED!"_ George yelled. "So, stop acting like it's somehow my fault that for some bloody reason the Merlin-forsaken git feels comfortable talking to me!"

The whole room went into an unpleasant stillness but like George cared. He wasn't listening to Ron's rubbish about how he should be happy that he was the 'chosen one'. Percy could choose to appear to however he liked. And like Arthur said, it wasn't fair for them to demand anything from someone that had died in such a horrible way to begin with. _Right?_

With a silence settling in the room, George just let his shoulders drop. "I'm sorry," he really meant it.

"I'm sorry too," Ron looked reluctant to apologise. "But it's... it's just not fair."

"Uh—err…I—" George was cut off by a tired-looking Ginny. After that third baby, Ginny was perpetually tired.

Ginny shook her head. "George, you have you understand that you _SEE _him, and you still can't believe that he's gone," James stole a piece of potato from her plate when she wasn't watching. "How do you think it feels for the rest of us?"

"Um…" George rubbed his neck, trying to look at Bill and Charlie for help. Yeah, no such luck.

"I miss the stupid prat," Ron sounded teary, but he was rubbing his dry eyes. "Even we knew that he was dead, even when I thought that he abandoned Fred, I fucking missed him. And now, I'm never going to see him again because he doesn't want to see me! How is that bloody fair? Can't you talk to him? Can't you…?" he trailed off, taking a deep breath.

"Maybe you can convince him to just see mum and dad," Bill suggested. George really wanted Percy to see their mum and dad more than anything. They were really suffering with this. Every day, his mum woke up feeling lesser than the day before. It was hard enough losing Fred, but losing Percy absolutely destroyed Molly. Everyone knew that he was her favourite, even if she didn't say it out loud. "He has to. He can't just leave the like this."

"Keep your mother out of this," Arthur tried to wipe gravy off his sleeve. "Your brother can do whatever he wants."

Even Arthur was starting to sound defeated. You could see it in his face that his resolve was coming to a boiling point.

Molly looked like she wanted to agree with him, but she couldn't. "Do…do you think you can, Georgie?" she whispered.

George closed his eyes. He remembered how scared Percy looked like when he'd asked him the first time. He turned so pale he became practically transparent. He looked like he'd never heard of anything more horrible in his life.

"I don't know if I can," George said unconvincingly, when what he really wanted to say was that he doubted it.

"Oh," Molly replied, sounding absolutely shattered. "That's… that's okay, dear. That's fine. Your father is right. We should be grateful that he's even around to tell us about what happened." But her voice was cracking as she spoke. In front of her, she had a plate that was pretty much only carrots and the smallest chicken breast, and she barely ate any of it. "But still, it would be nice to be able to see him again... I haven't seen him in years. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words to say anything. He just nodded his head bleakly.

_Perce, can you hear this?_ George thought, feeling a lump in his throat. _They aren't going to hate you, Perce. . _

George felt so guilty staring at his parents, who looked at him with expectant eyes. _Please_, he begged. _You have to let them see you. They aren't ever going to see Fred again, but they can see you_. His heart was racing so fast that he felt it in his throat.

"I really don't think that he will," George answered quietly, and hoped that they couldn't hear how doubtful he sounded.

"Of course, he won't," Ron said, gripping his fork so hard his knuckles turned white. "He hates us."

There was a moment of silence as George pushed food around in his plate. He tried to eat his crazy buttery mashed potatoes that made him feel like his arteries were thickening with his vegetables that were smothered in gravy.

_Okay_, he heard Percy say, but it didn't sound like he really wanted to. He sounded hesitant, but George felt so hopeful.

_Really?_ George knew that he was looking a gift ghippogriff in the mouth, but he couldn't help himself.

_Yes, really._ Then this was followed by Percy asking: _how should I look like? _George couldn't help but smile a little.

_I like how you looked like at your fifth year;_ George admitted. It was when things used to be okay. Percy would walk around entranced by his new Prefect badge. He'd been absolutely filled with uncontrollable glee, because he wasn't really used to having any kind of bloody power. They were still close. Summer days were filled with Percy making sure Fred and George didn't completely blow up the house whilst he and Ginny made her favourite chocolate-orange cupcakes with dark chocolate frosting. He used to force them to eat them all before mum and dad came back and saw them.

One summer evening, he remembered Percy nearly having an aneurysm when he heard his parents talking in the living room, returned early from Aunt Muriel's or Diagon Alley, and he'd practically forced them to scoff a dozen cupcakes in less than three minutes.

_I still have a box of the same mix downstairs… somewhere; _Percy replied tentatively. _I like how I looked like in my fifth year too—_

"Hey!" George yelled when Ron shoved him to the side. "What's that for?"

"Did he say no?" Ron had eaten half of his plate, which was more than what everyone else had. "Did you tell him?"

George nodded his head. He didn't know why he was so nervous. What if Percy backed out? _Thank you for the vote of confidence_, he heard Percy tell him, but he sounded so normal and sarcastic. He felt warmed.

"What did he say?" Molly tentatively asked, but it looked like she was preparing for a rejection.

George slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, mum," he said. "He said yes."

"Really?" Molly looked shocked. It was like he'd said that Percy wanted to go on a cleaning spree.

"Yeah, mum… I was going to tell you just now, but he kept on asking me on how he should show himself—you know, since I can already see him," George just shrugged. He huffed his chest up and basked in the warm feeling he had, knowing he was about to change Percy's mind. Yeah, he didn't need to hear Percy's thoughts to know that he was probably floating in midair, rolling his eyes. "Since he could manipulate how he looks… you know, because maybe appearing as a skeleton that's had his head smashed isn't the best way for you guys to reunite." He snorted lightly.

_You only saw that once_, Percy interjected lamely. _And like I was going to give our mother a heart attack! That's YOUR job! _

Arthur sat up straight, looking startled for a few moments and then eventually, he looked placid for the first time in ages. "Wow," came out of his mouth in a rather relaxed tone. It was probably the happiest he'd seen his father since he heard that Percy died. "That's…that's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

It was like there was a glow in the room. Ron started eating a little more vigorously. Bread rolls were being passed around. It was like Bill suddenly realised how bloody starving he was after three days of eating next to nothing and Charlie was cramming in vegetables at a rate that would probably send him to St Mungo's A&E. A normal chatter started to commence, with Hermione and Ginny talking about what they should say to him. George felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, knowing that they were going to hear the story from Percy after all. Like they should've been all along.

_Do you hear that, Perce?_ George asked him, but of course, the bloody bastard only commented on awful, negative rubbish.

As George went back to trying to finish the rest of his plate, he heard a small tiny _yes_ coming from Percy.

That night when George went to sleep, he felt a little better than he had been feeling in ages. He was curled up on the couch whilst his wife shared a bed with Hermione—lucky girl. George yawned into his hands. Just as he was about to fall into a beautiful dreamless slumber, he heard Percy ask him about what he should wear tomorrow. The bloody git!

The next morning, Ron had barely brushed his teeth and Ginny just finished feeding Lily before Molly and Arthur insisted that they all come down right now to grab a few flapjacks before they headed out to Percy's. It was six in the morning! Unfortunately, George couldn't persuade them otherwise. He knew that Percy was awake after all.

George had eaten more flapjacks that morning than he had in months. They were nice, sticky, and sweet. He hadn't even had an appetite for the last few days, but it returned with vigor this morning. And he wasn't the only one. Ron and Ginny practically inhaled the marshmallow-chocolate bars that mum made (and his mum had to be in a cracker mood to make sweets at five am!) and even Harry was indulging in a bowl of porridge that was made with more sugar and chocolate than a Honeyduke's giant cauldron cake. Honestly, seeing Percy look like a walking Inferi really put George off losing a single pound for the rest of his life. He'd rather be overstuffed, because at least then his wife could use him as a pillow.

The house was animated with joy. _See? _George felt the need to remind Percy. _They want to see you so badly_. It was like Christmas came early. Did you know how long it had been since they felt like it was Christmas at the Burrow?

_Are you done making your point?_ Percy asked dryly. He sounded like he was in more of a foul mood than usual. Typical.

Speaking of moods, Molly was in great spirits! George almost didn't recognise her with that thing on her face. You know, that thing that people do when they feel good—that _smile_ thing? She even wore new yellow robes today.

Positively touched by the excitement, George even decided to apparate to the front door of Percy's house. He'd happily (or so he thought) weeded through all that rubbish just to get to Penelope's old room, where they usually meet now.

Of course, he regretted his choice about three seconds later when he remembered just how sticky the mottled, old carpets were and how the faded, almost greyish wallpapers smelled like—well, to be cruel to Percy a little—a rotting corpse. There were more insects forming homes here than there were boxes stacked up against each other. And did you know how many boxes Percy had? They spanned every inch of the room. They were piled high, and some of which were wet and fuzzier than Ron's brain during an exam. George sighed deeply, but he did manage to make it to the top of the stairs in record time. Just barely! It felt more taxing than a three-hour Quidditch match. One of those matches where Harry couldn't have found the Snitch, even if it him in the face.

When George made it to Penelope's, he was a little worried when he walked into an empty room.

The rest of the family followed suit, and George found himself panicking. _Perce? Percy?_ He reiterated into his head but received no answer. He was beginning to wonder if Percy decided not to do it anymore. George took in the room. It was dim lit, just like the way that it had always been in Percy's house. Ginny looked apprehensive too when she read George's face. "Is he here?" She nudged George, because of course, he and Percy shared a bloody brain cell at this point. George just shrugged in response. The look of confusion and disappointment hit Ginny hard, and she sat down onto the ground.

"Is he coming?" Ginny went from being excited about seeing Percy to her wondering if he was even going to show up.

George opened his mouth to say that he was, but he couldn't. "I don't know, Gin," he didn't dare look at his parents.

"But he said that he would," Ron stared at George in an accusatory fashion. "Didn't he?"

George didn't find it in him to tell Ron to sod off. Instead, he just nodded his head lightly. "Uh huh."

Bill looked at George in that same disbelieving fashion. "So... where is he?" he asked hotly.

"Love, maybe he's just…" running a little late? He was an agoraphobic ghost. Where else would he go? Molly cleared her throat, just shaking her head. "We should just sit down. Maybe he has cold feet."

George snorted. "Mum, he's a ghost. He has a cold _everything_."

Nobody laughed, unsurprisingly. After Molly slowly sat down on the ground, they all gave up at some point and joined her. They all sat down in their now customary circle, and it took longer than usual. Usually, they were sat down and comfortable in less than five minutes but everyone was shuffling about and looked uncertain about the events that were unfolding. Bill was even looking at George like it was his fault! How? It was like all the sugar and feel-good emotions they got had this morning just disintegrated into ether. Nobody was in the mood anymore. There was such heavy tension in the room. It was so heavy that George couldn't even breathe. He cursed Percy for every second he wasn't there.

_Where are you?_ George asked in his head. _You promised them that you'd be here._ He remembered his father telling him that he had no right to demand anything of someone whose life had such an unsatisfying outcome. But...he just wanted to do something right for his family! Was that so wrong? Was it so wrong to want to give them some kind of closure?!

He tried not to look at his family, because they depended on him for this. And even if they understood that Percy had a right to refuse to be seen, they really wanted to see him. Imagine having the chance to see a loved one that died, and they refused to see you? George's stomach hurt, thinking for a second how he would've felt like if Fred refused to see him. He wouldn't know how to sleep at night anymore. And how were his parents ever supposed to recover if they didn't see him?

Ron was right. George didn't know how they felt because he'd been able to see Percy from day one. He'd fought with him. He'd laughed with him. He'd bloody shared thoughts with him! And even he wasn't coping well with Percy's death.

After ten minutes of just waiting, George was just sighing deeply before he saw Percy peering from the shadows. _George?_

Even in the darkness, George knew that Percy was in his fifth-year form. He could see that he was wearing a pair of nice-looking navy robes. Then his mouth dropped because did Percy seriously try to do something with his hair? How could you even do his hair? It looked more combed and nicer than usual. He looked like how mum used to dress him up for a play-date when he was six—all neat-looking second-hand clothes that were pressed to the point where they looked new. Seriously, Perce? Because he was dead. It was hardly the time to start wondering if he could be the Hottest Ghost on _Witch Weekly_ magazine.

George gestured for Percy to approach them. "Hey," he said a little unsteadily. "Come here."

Next to him, he could feel Bill hold his breath. And he'd probably continue holding his breath until he turned blue.

George looked back at Charlie. "You can see him, right?" but he didn't need to ask. Charlie's eyes were so transfixed by Percy's form even in the darkness that it was hard for him to say anything. All he could do was nod his head. "Right?"

"I…um…uh…" Charlie was incoherently mumbling when George spoke, which caused him to roll his eyes. "Yeah."

"Hey," Bill's voice was so soft he might as well be trying to cajole a crying newborn. "Come here, Perce. It's okay."

Percy blinked a few times, staring at them with a softness in his bright blue eyes. His eyes looked almost translucent in the darkness. He floated a little closer to them. Percy was as pale as anything, with dull-looking hair and blue fingers. His freckles had faded into a near-grey to white. There was no mistaking that he was a ghost that was for sure. Of course, in normal Percy fashion, he didn't even bother looking at anyone just in case the world would combust before his eyes if he did. Not that George was surprised.

Tentatively and slowly, Arthur stood up from his place. He walked towards where Percy was standing—err… floating.

Arthur gingerly placed a hand under Percy's chin, forcing him to look at him. Percy stared at him with glossy eyes, but you could see the pure unadulterated panic a mile away. His lips were pursed, his eyes were glossy. Arthur dropped his hand down to Percy's shoulder and before he could help himself, he scooped him up into his arms and hugged him.

George stood up and walked over to his father. He could see the look of confusion on Percy's face, as if he didn't expect this. Merlin, for someone so smart, he was so bloody daft. What did he think would happen exactly?

Arthur was holding Percy so tightly that George could imagine that he would've hurt him if Percy had feeling anymore. Except Percy just stared into space, not meeting anyone else's eyes. His father, who had been trying to cheer everyone up and tell them that they couldn't expect a bloody thing from him, started crying. Not just crying, sobbing into Percy. And yet again, Percy just served to look confused because he was a bloody moron. He looked like he didn't expect this.

"Even knowing, I…I didn't want to believe…" his voice trailed off. "Percy," he sounded like he was in pain.

Percy just stood there awkwardly. Arthur pulled away, looking at him. "Say something," Arthur begged. "Please."

That was the first time that George ever heard Percy's thoughts, and it made him shudder. _You left me alone to die,_ Percy thought, but remained quiet. His tone was so cold and malicious. It was a miracle Percy kept his mouth shut. _What did you even have me if you were just going to make me suffer? _Instead of saying any of that, Percy just shook his head at his father. His glassy blue eyes were filled with an unspoken pain. He stared across from George with a dumbfounded, almost distressed facial expression. _I thought I'd come to terms with this. I thought that…I thought…_

George just stared at him. His chest hurt, knowing, how heartbroken Percy was. He stood up and walked towards him.

"Dad, just give him some space," George said, and Arthur moved a little back. Percy had no problem looking at George. Honestly, Percy wouldn't even have a problem talking with him, or even beating him with a Beater's Bat if he wanted. Not that he did want—not right now at least, but George was sure Percy thought about it sometimes. "Perce? Are you okay?"

Percy really didn't really look okay. "Yes," he said in the smallest whisper. George barely heard him.

_I-I want to give you something_, Percy stated. There was a twitch of a smile on his face. At least George thought it was a smile.

Before George could ask what in Merlin's name was going on, Percy was nodding off to the opposite direction.

George barely had a moment to process what was happening. As he tried to digest what Percy might've meant, he felt a cold smack on his arse. His arse! His own bloody wife didn't smack his arse…anymore at least. Not that she did a lot of arse-smacking even when she did smack his arse! He turned around, agitated. But that anger didn't last long. It abated in seconds, and George felt all the blood rushing to his ears and the world stand still. Twenty-year-old Fred was staring straight at him, his face disfigured after the debris had hit it. He looked… kind of wonky. But that smirk was unmistakable.

"Merlin, you've all gotten bloody old," Fred's voice made George shiver. His voice. He'd forgotten how Fred sounded like! How did he forgot how his own twin sounded like? "Man, I'm glad I died so early so I didn't have to age so badly." George just rolled his eyes, because like he was an example of bad aging! He was still at the peak of his youth!

"Fred," Ginny's broken voice broke George out of his thoughts. _"FRED!" _she yelled, just you know... in case you weren't up to speed.

"Fred?" Charlie echoed incredulously. "Fred?" did you know how long it had been since he'd called out for Fred? It left goosebumps on his dotted skin. For years, George couldn't even handle hearing Fred's name. He still couldn't really.

Bill looked at Percy in a confusion. "Percy, did you do this?" he sounded so grateful. "Did you bring him here?"

George stared at Percy, who just slowly nodded his head. "Perce, you did this?" George repeated softly. "For me?"

He felt his heart thudding quickly into his chest. He wanted to say something but found it hard to say anything. He felt sick, but at the same time, he felt so elated. It wasn't exactly like Percy owed it to them. But it just… it felt so wrong.

Here Percy was, dead for ages, and nobody cared, and he was doing _them_ a favour? It really made George nauseous.

Ron practically attacked Fred, wrapping his arms around him. "You bloody arsehole!" he was crying and sobbing all over the place. "Merlin, do you know how things were like without you? Mum still visits your grave every day! George stopped functioning for three years! Gin and I…I…" he trailed off, pain showing in his face. "I can't believe this. I-I—"

Fred smiled weakly. He didn't have time to reply before Molly placed a hand on his shoulder. "Baby," she whispered.

George felt his heart race ten times faster, staring at his mum be close to his twin like this. It burned and ached him to the core to see Fred because he realised that he really was never going to get over his twin's death.

"Son," Arthur was almost breathless, scooping Fred in his arms. "My baby boy." George felt a pain of a decade resurfaced in seconds. So, he was back now? His initial elation and confliction had turned into queasiness and anxiety.

"Fred," George echoed incredulously, staring at his brother with big, brown eyes. "Fred," he started sobbing.

"Georgie, hey, hey," Fred broke out of his father's hold just to get closer to George. His brown eyes were lighter than they were when he was alive, and he was a lot paler, but not as pale as that filmy, slimy git he spent his time talking to. His face was so mucked up from where the debris fell on him. His face was as wobbly as jelly, and his arms didn't even look like they were in the right place. He looked like a wonkier version of the brother he knew. Like a cracker mirror and it hurt to look at him. "I'm here now! Percy…I guess… brought me here. The prat probably reads all these ghost manuals… typical."

George nodded his head, but he couldn't find himself saying anything. Fred embraced him tightly.

"Did it hurt?" George asked, his throat swollen. _Why did you leave me?_ "Did it hurt…dying?"

"It didn't last long," Fred tried to console him. "I died pretty quick," he paused. "George? What's wrong?"

And just like that, it was like a dam broke and all these emotions that George didn't even know he had came spilling out.

"What's wrong? What's _wrong?"_ George's hands were balled into fists, and he was absolutely filled with rage. Why didn't he feel ecstatic? He didn't even feel like Fred was there, even though he was holding him and touching him. Because where the fuck was he when George was lying awake at night, catatonic for a whole month after his death? Where was he when George purposefully tried to end his life on their one-year anniversary? Where was he when George was crying and screaming every day for years until he'd decided to accept and move on? "Do you know how it's been like without you?"

Fred flinched and leaned backwards. He looked like he tried not to think about it. "Georgie, you don't need me."

"You left me," George finally said, not knowing what else to say. "You _LEFT_ me!" he shrieked out in anger.

Fred's eyes were wide with shock. "George, I…" he whispered but was cut off by a fuming George.

George wasn't seeing straight. All he could do was stare at Percy. "Why did you bring him back, you stupid selfish prat?" he asked him hotly, and Percy recoiled back, hurt. "I just got over his death and you made me…you…" he looked at Fred, shaking uncontrollably. Angelina walked over to him. "Do you know how many times I wished it was _me?" _Fred paled even more." You can't just come back here and-and-and pretend like I didn't have to go through losing you! You can't pretend that nothing's changed! You can't just…" his lip wobbled, and he felt like he was really becoming unhinged.

"George," Angelina's voice was soft. "George, hey, it's okay," she tried to soothe him, but it wasn't really helping.

George sobered up momentarily, and looked at Percy, realising he'd just been cruel to him for no reason. "Perce, I'm sorry," he said softly. He felt like a broken record. "I didn't mean it. Honestly. I just…" he shook his head.

Percy nodded his head. He looked so defeated. And it killed him when he didn't meet George's eyes.

"Mate, I…I didn't want to go," Fred cajoled George, who seemed to calm down a little bit more. Angelina had her hold on George, and after the irritation wore off, it was starting to comfort him. The smell and feel of his wife melted his heart. Fred looked at Percy from across the room. "What even happened to you, Perce? I never got a chance to ask before you went mental and left me alone in Hogwarts ages ago… then proceeded to never come back! I didn't even know you were at the battle…well, I wasn't there for the whole thing but…" he was rattling off, voice low and non-accusatory.

"Oh, love," Molly looked heartbroken, realising that Fred didn't know. It made George sick to think about it.

"Hey, I'll tell you," George whispered to Fred. He grabbed Fred by his shoulder. Being this close and intimate with his twin didn't make him feel any better anymore. He leaned close into Fred's ear and said, "Fred, we mucked up so bad. He died here, in his house… all alone…eight years ago. And we didn't know he was dead until now. We tossed his handle off the clock." A look of confusion dawned on Fred's face, as he stared at George like he was crazy.

Fred paled even more. "You threw his handle off the clock?" he looked dubious. "Why?"

"He didn't come to your funeral," George tried to explain in a whisper. He wished that Percy didn't have to bring Fred back, because he looked like he was about to have a mental breakdown right now. But this was only right, George tried to tell himself. "We thought that he…" he trailed off. George closed his eyes. Nothing he was going to say was going to sound like a good excuse. _Oh, Percy didn't come to the funeral, so we cut off all ties with him! He might as well be dead to us!_

"Thought he _what?"_ Fred pushed George off, looking angry. "How could you not know he died for eight _YEARS?"_

"I know," was all that George could say in a whisper. He hated himself for it too. He didn't dare look at Percy. "I know."


	14. Blackouts and Amnesia

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Fourteen: Blackouts and Amnesia

* * *

George spent hours trying to explain to Fred what really happened to Percy and catch him up on what happened in the last few days. Oh, plus, he included a live demonstration of Percy's living room—where half the things really were living!

"I can't believe Perfect Prefect Percy lives in this!" Fred told George after he'd had a tour of the house. Not that there was much touring involved. George gagged when he'd found a box of expired rice cakes that was covered with what looked like mounds of dead small insects glued to a weeping, wet carton, and that ended their tour. Pity considering they were only eight minutes in before they decided to apparate back to the room. "This is worse than our portable swamp!"

Back in the room, his family was sat there talking about—you know, dead things. Fred, Percy... oh, and George's career!

George waited for Percy to tell them off for being insensitive about his beautiful home. You'd think it was the Malfoy manor with how obsessed Percy was about it. He had trouble throwing away _dead_ things too, as he regrettably discovered. As George looked around for Percy, he sighed deeply. That deflated Halloween decoration was nowhere to be found! Try as he might, George couldn't hear his bones rattling from a distance or see Percy's tell-tale bulging pierce-into-your-soul eyes shining in the dimness.

"Um… mum… where's Percy?" George asked the second he'd gone back to the room with Fred. Did Percy just leave?

"Percy? Wasn't he with you, darling? I thought that you were showing Fred around—um… the house," Molly looked up from the floor. The room was pinker than Ginny's Pygmy Puff. His mum's stunning robes looked a little crumpled and her bright red hair had gone back to its natural state. Mum looked like she'd been electrocuted by eckeltricity. "I thought that…oh Merlin, I can't believe that I didn't think to ask! He disappeared right after you left so I just assumed that…"

Her voice softened and fear flashed into her eyes. "Did-did we upset him?" Molly asked George quietly.

"Mum, no! You didn't upset him," Fred tried to soothe her. "There's no way that you upset—well, maybe a little…he is awfully sensitive, you know. He probably did get really upset over being dead and nobody caring about it or anything. Oh, and I guess me coming back didn't help—even if he did bring me back…" George shoved him to the side. "Hey!"

"How's that supposed to make mum feel any better, arsehole?" George asked him, raising his eyebrow at him.

"Fred is right, mum," Ginny went pink and then rubbed her arm awkwardly. "I don't think that he wants to talk to us."

Arthur just swallowed thickly. "I think that's my fault, Mollywobbles, I…" he looked like he was rethinking what happened. George shuddered, remembering the dark thoughts that were into Percy's mind when Arthur hugged him. "I think I must've made him so uncomfortable. He didn't look happy about…" his voice was trailing off.

George bit down his lower lip. "Dad, Percy is never happy." The only time he'd seen Percy look even close to being happy was when he mentioned holding his daughter for the first time, and that only lasted three seconds. _Perce, are you there? Because you have to come back? NOW? Mum and dad are losing it! They think that they're the worst parents ever! _

"Is he coming back?" Arthur looked at George with begging blue eyes.

George grew anxious. _Perce, come on… you're going to break dad's heart!_ "Well, it's not like he has anywhere else to go!"

"That's very convincing," Ron muttered sarcastically. "Why did you have to open your giant mouth, George? Call him!"

George's blood boiled. "Don't you think I've tried?" he asked. "It's not an exact science here!"

After a few more attempts of trying to call out for him, George just sighed and shrieked, _"PERCY!"_ His voice nearly caused Charlie to lose balance as he'd been leaning against the wall, looking at an old framed photograph of Penelope.

"Blimey!" Ron was hyperventilating. "Give us a little warning next time you do that!"

"Do you want Percy here or not?" George asked him, rolling his eyes. He sighed. "We should just go look for him."

Arthur stood up and nodded his head. "Do you know where to look?"

"Kitchen," George answered. "I'll apparate there right now, but I think that that's where he's at."

Without saying anything else, George apparated into the kitchen. Indeed, he was immediately greeted by Percy burying his head into his knees, sandwiched in between two giant boxes. The kitchen was darker than everywhere else in the house, which he was sure why Percy liked to be around here. Muttering a _"Lumos",_ George tried to inch towards Percy.

"Perce?" George's voice was soft. He reached up and tried to shake Percy by his thin shoulder.

"Merlin, is that what he looks like? You know, when he's not pretending to be a fifth year?" Fred asked, amber eyes bulging. He looked rather worried. "Perce...?"

Percy was still wearing his nice robes, and his hair was unchanged. That was the perks of being a ghost, George guessed. He couldn't exactly get dirty from the floor, or to have unkempt hair. In his emaciated state, the blue of the robes just made him look washed out and greyer than he actually was. His sleeves had ridden up because of how large they were.

"Are you sleeping?" George finally figured that out, and then shook Percy's shoulder.

Percy swatted his hands away but groaned. "You know, George, they typically want dead people to rest in peace," he muttered in annoyance and George just relaxed because he thought that Percy was having a mental breakdown or something and never wanted to talk to them again. Too much? "You thought I was having a _what?"_ he groggily asked.

George's cheeks coloured in. "You didn't come when I called," he answered weakly.

He could see Percy roll his eyes even with his head pressed against his knees. "Oh, pardon me! I am but a ghostly house elf to your highness!" he sarcastically spat out. The relief was still washing over George, so Percy didn't hate them because—

Percy was pushed out of his position when Ron had accidentally apparated straight into the spot where Percy was at. Almost instantly, Percy instinctively pushed Ron off him, which caused Ron to trip straight into Percy's gigantic humongous head. But hey! At least Percy couldn't feel pain. George couldn't say that much for Ron though. He looked like he was seeing more constellations now than when he had to fill in his first-year star chart for his Astronomy homework. Percy's favourite boxes of junk exploded soon after, sending loads of rubbish flying in all directions. Good times!

He was floating and fuming right now at Ron, who was covered in congealed-looking baby formula.

_"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"_ was the first question that Percy asked Ron in about a decade. George stifled his laughter.

Ron looked surprised that Percy was even talking to him directly. He stiffened momentarily and then just relaxed. Before he could answer, multiple _pops_ sounded out. It sounded like a couple of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs were just set off. Promptly recognising the sound, Percy looked at George and Fred with a hardened expression. That vein in his neck looked awfully big for someone that was dead. Both held their hands up to proclaim innocence, but Percy didn't look like he believed them.

Percy sighed in defeat, rubbing his neck. "What are you doing in my kitchen?!" he shrieked to his family, sounding very much like Molly Weasley in a bad mood. "Look at what you did to-to my…" eyes softening, Percy leaned down to pick up a pink rattle. Percy turned it over in his hand, staring at it with glossy eyes. For a second, George felt his longing and anguish. Then he seemed to come back to reality, flushed and threw away the rattle like he didn't care for it at all. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?" George could barely stop himself from laughing. Percy was scrutinising his parents!

"Hey, we're _still_ older than you," Arthur reminded him. Percy was startled by that initially, but then he scoffed. "Oh, Percival, I…"

"But this is my house," Percy whispered. "This is my _home_." His words might as well stabbed Arthur in the chest.

Arthur and Molly looked devastated, and George was unnerved by the fact that Percy didn't care that he'd hurt them.

"No, mate," Ron shook his head. "This isn't your home," his voice was cracked.

"Perce, Ron is right. These… these are just things," Bill sounded desperate as he slowly approached Percy. "It's all just rubbish. Everything's rotten, moldy, and dead! I know that we've had our differences but this—"

George nearly pissed his pants when the windows just closed in on them and the fridge door started opening and closing. He had no idea how Percy had managed to even make sure that there was no light in the fridge! A cold, strong powerful gust of wind sent chills down George's spine. He was whimpering. Everyone was shivering and turning bluer than a Cornish pixie—well, besides Fred and Percy. George had been pretty sure that he was going to lose his toes to frostbite.

"This is my _HOUSE!"_ Percy yelled, waving his hands in all directions. The wind blew faster. George's teeth chattered. "Rotten, moldy and dead. Just like me! Or have you forgotten I rotted here too! Or am I just rubbish to you too?"

"P-P-Percy! Stop!" Bill cried out, ears and lips now blue and frosty. "You're going to kill us!"

"S-son…son, stop!" Arthur begged, and Percy just shook his head. "This isn't like you!"

"_I'M NOT YOUR SON!_" Percy screamed back. After he said that, small sobs left Percy's lips.

George tried to think of something to say, but his mind was numb and frozen. He couldn't come up with a coherent thought if he tried. In seconds, the room returned to a normal temperature and things stopped swirling around in an abyss. The room looked more chaotic than usual, and Percy was still sniffling and crying. He looked an absolute disaster.

"You left me here to rot," Percy's lip was trembling, rubbing his eyes harshly. "Like _I_ was just rubbish!"

Percy had his arms around himself now, as if he were trying to comfort himself. The second that Molly tried to inch forward just to comfort him, Percy just shook his head and went back a few steps. A look of anguish filled Molly's face, and Arthur reached over to hold her shoulder, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. They didn't really look like they helped their mum much. George knew that Percy had done this before, but it still hurt him every time to see this happen. It hurt to see Percy seclude himself when anyone in this room would do anything to make him feel better.

"Perce, what do you want us to do?" George was tearful. "We're running in circles here! We want to make this better."

"Maybe you can't make it better," Percy's voice was low. "You can't just make things disappear because you feel sorry about it."

George knew that Percy was right. He couldn't just fix everything just because he happened to feel sorry for it. No amount of remorse was ever going to give Percy his life back.

"And if you don't want to be in my house, you can just leave," Percy warned.

George nodded his head. "Perce, we're sorry." At his one millionth apology, Percy stayed quiet and said nothing.

He tried to process what in Merlin's name had happened today because he felt so bloody confused and overwhelmed. Fred was here now? Oh, and Percy had a monumental breakdown and reminded them of how precious his house was for the hundredth time around? And they had no idea where this was going?

George watched Percy rub his eyes again. "What did you wake me up for?" he asked calmly, as if nothing happened.

Everyone was quiet. What did you say after your dead brother just had a meltdown? "Well…" Ginny's voice was soft.

"Yes?" Percy smoothed over his robes. Ginny's eyes dropped down to his wispy hands.

"Well, _I_ heard you were telling people how you died—well, George told me you were," Fred gestured towards George, just in case Percy somehow hadn't seen him. George honestly felt like he might as well be the size of a dwarf when he was standing between Bill and Ron, who he was sure were drinking growth potions in their sleep! "George caught me up and told me all about how miserable you were. Does anything good ever happen?" he asked, and Percy just rolled his eyes.

"It's the story of _my illness and death!_" Percy puffed his sunken cheeks out. "And the next bit isn't exactly happy either."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Perce, come on, you can't tell me that nothing good happened at all." Percy scoffed. "Seriously?"

Percy thought about this for one second. "I switched to Malkin's silk instead of cotton. Very pricey, but very good."

"You don't say," Fred clapped his hand over his mouth in mock shock. Percy looked like he wanted to vanish him back to whatever realm he took him from. George didn't understand ghost dynamics here but leave it to Percy to figure out how it worked. "What happened to Molly?" when he got a glare from their mum, Fred flushed. Well, not really flushed per say. He didn't have any circulating blood after all… but he did look less dead than normal. "Mum, I mean _his daughter!"_

Percy sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "This is a story!" he exclaimed hotly. "I'm going to teach both of you a lesson I would've loved to when you were still in Hogwarts—which is that books are meant to be read from front to back, chapter by chapter. Even cookbooks!"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Percy, you can't cook," he said. Then his facial expression softened. "Perce, what just happened? You know? Right now? With you going…um…" he gestured wildly with his hands as he fumbled for words.

"What in Merlin's name do you possibly—oh, _that_," Percy grimaced, remembering the colossal meltdown he had literally one second ago. George sometimes wanted to take shake some sense into that bigheaded git. "Well… was I wrong?"

Charlie flinched. Percy looked at him with that calculated stare that could bring his mum down to tears. "No."

"What's the problem?" Percy asked in a matter-of-fact tone. "Oh, I told dad that I wasn't…that…" he glanced over at Arthur. George had never seen his father look more terrified than he was then. George held his breath so hard. He couldn't predict what Percy was going to say. "I…I didn't mean what I said."

Even George snapped his head up. Percy had his hands into the pockets of his shiny robes.

Stunned, Arthur didn't really respond. He sort of had his mouth hanging, with words lost in his mouth.

"Dad?" Percy whispered softly, and Arthur looked even more surprised. George didn't even remember the last time that Percy had even called him dad. Then Percy looked back at his mother. "Mum?"

Molly's hands were shaking. Percy pulled his hands out for her, and with trembling hands, she reached out for him.

"Careful, mum. I'm cold," Percy said softly, and it surprised George how tender Percy sounded.

Molly nodded her head but there were tears forming in her eyes. "You look so…so…" her voice was shaky, and George bet it had something to do with Percy might as well just be a floating head. "You don't look like my son."

Percy nodded his head slowly, not reacting to this. "I know," he said in a low voice. "I could, if you want."

"No, no, _NO!_ Merlin, Percy, what happened to you?" Molly's voice was unsteady. She sounded so angry and disappointed in him. Percy just stood there, letting her berate him. "I didn't raise you to be like this! I didn't raise you to _look_ like this. You look like you haven't eaten before in your life! Do you think I forced you to clear your plate so you could _starve to death?"_

"Mum, I didn't do this to spite you," Percy tried to tell her. "There were… um…issues and… complications…"

Molly just shook her head, and then pushed him a little backwards. "Why couldn't you have just told anyone? Why did you have to keep this all to yourself? Why didn't you ever ask for help? Why didn't you let that psychiatric healer come and help you if you weren't doing so well? Why did you let yourself get to _THIS_ state?" Molly gestured all over the kitchen, flapping her hands around wildly as she looked at him with a pierced, almost crazed gaze.

Percy looked like he was at a loss of words for one. "I…" his throat hurt. "I didn't think anyone would've helped me."

"Oh, Merlin, Percival, for how smart you are, you could be so… _ugh!"_ Molly's hands shook, as she placed a hand on his face. George watched agape, not sure how his mum had managed to extract their real Percy out of that agoraphobic, mentally ill one. George was transported back into their Hogwarts days. "Of course, we would've helped you! I know…love, you've written us off before we've written you off." She reminded him, and Percy nodded his head slowly. George felt sick, thinking about how things could've gone better. "I wish…I wish I could've tried harder."

Percy kept his lips pursing tightly. "Me too." George didn't know what he meant it for, but it sounded genuine.

"Come on," she patted his shoulder. Percy looked content for the first time in ages. "Let's finish that story upstairs."

George was amazed at how his mum just managed to deescalate the situation in seconds. Percy looked less like a maniacal obsessive agoraphobe and more like, you know, his actual personality. It looked like Arthur was looking a little bit dumbfounded too, and George had to bite back his tongue when Arthur leaned into George and said, "Let your mum handle dealing with your brother from now on." That felt so normal for them that it brought George a great deal of comfort as they all apparated back to the room. George sat on top of Penelope's bed, with Angelina curled up beside him. Fred almost pushed him off, trying to hog the pillows. He was a floating ghost! What did he want pillows for?

Stood there awkwardly, Percy was floating next to Penelope's dresser. Bill tried to be encouraging. "Come on, Perce!"

Percy cleared his throat. George thought that having to listen to this would put him to sleep—no offence to Percy, but he'd never been good at listening. Oliver Wood's pre-game speeches were even more boring than the drivel Binns cocked up!

"Well, um, there's not much actually left," Percy said softly. "At this point, Molly must've been four or five months old…"

A BLOOD curling scream woke Percy up from his sleep, making his heart race out of his chest. He'd broken out into a sweat, and he felt like he was on fire, as if he'd spent the last couple of hours helping Charlie in Romania. As he hyperventilated faster than little Ginny did when she met Harry Potter for the first time, he felt grey and blue spots form before his eyes. Percy immediately got up from the bed, grabbed his wand and then apparated to the living room so quickly that he felt like he was about to upchuck his highly palatable (ha) tuna salad dinner. In the living room, he was greeted by a frazzled, frizzy-haired Penelope Clearwater. Her aquamarine blue eyes were wildly dilated, and she had the healthy complexion of a succulent strawberry. Her hands had clenched into small fists, and there was sweat running down her temple.

_"YOU'RE SICK! YOU'RE BLOODY SICK!" _Penelope shrieked at him. Percy then realised that his order of three cases of strawberry milk was sat on top of the table. A table that was covered in magazines, The Daily Prophet papers, and wrappers of raisin and milk chocolate chip oatmeal bars that Percy couldn't find it in him to throw away. What if he became a wrapper collector? He should be able to choose which wrapper looked the nicest. What if he just wanted to remember that Tuesday where he ate that oatmeal bar? Yes, he might be allergic to strawberries, but it was an investment! Besides, they only had 2% fat. He thought that Penelope would be chuffed, always going on about her diet.

Percy went red with embarrassment. "Penny, I can explain!" he cried out, but he couldn't. "You see, they were on—"

"Did you just buy _THREE_ cases of something that you're deathly allergic to?" Penelope asked him hotly.

Percy's cheeks coloured in. "Well, I did, but…but I can explain!" he kept saying. "I mean…you might want one! They're low in fat and cholesterol. They're really very good for you! And-and they were on sale in my Diagon Alley at Home catalogue!"

"I might want one?!" She grabbed fistfuls of her blonde curls. "Yes, I might want to _KILL_ you with one!"

Sweating profusely, Percy stuttered. "Um… w-well, allergies aren't forever!"

"Allergies aren't forever? Really? That's your response to all this rubbish that you've piled up over the last few months?" Penelope echoed. He might as well have started speaking in troll. "Because Godric, Percy, I… I give up!"

Percy rubbed his wet, cold neck. Repulsive, he knew. "Pardon?" he reiterated in wariness.

"I cave in! I give up! I'm through with this… I'm through with you!" Penelope sounded determined as she fumed. "I want a fucking divorce! I want to get out of _HERE!_ And I'm taking my baby with me before you kill her because you just happen to have a fucking death wish!" Percy's jaw dropped and he felt like his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

"You-you can't do this! You can't take her!" Percy's tongue felt heavy as he yelled.

Penelope just kept her lips pressed. "And why the bloody hell can't I, Percival? What? Are you going to go down to the Ministry with me and draw up divorce papers? Are you to be able to drop her off in Hogwarts when she's of age? Are you going to protect her when you can't even bear to look at the sun?" she screeched at him. "You've already ruined her bloody life and she hasn't even started crawling yet! Don't you see that? Or are you so deep into your own head that you can't seem to comprehend that our precious little baby shouldn't live in a _Ministry level three biohazard?!"_

"I'll throw them away. I'll get better," Percy insisted, even though the mere thought of it left him ill and anxious. "I-I—"

"It's not good enough anymore," Penelope whispered. "_You're_ not good enough for me anymore."

When Penelope just kept shaking her head, Percy's anxiety levels rose. "Penny!" he noticed her hyperventilating. "Wait!"

Before she could apparate away, Percy grabbed onto her. They side-apparated together with a _pop_. In seconds, they both ended up falling straight on their arses in Penelope's room. Percy felt like he might've just snapped his legs from the sheer impact of their apparition. As he sat there inhaling short, sharp breaths, Percy's stomach lurched, queasy from the trip. He tried really not to throw up or pass out. He tossed a look beside him, to his wife… and it looked like Penelope was just as disoriented. Head pounding, Percy sprinted towards the cot where their baby was sleeping.

"Percy, don't you _DARE!"_ Penelope called out, shaking a trembling hand at him. _"PERCY!"_

His legs felt heavier than his mum's holiday treacle tart. He could barely lift his arms and his feet and lips felt like they were tingling with a pins and needle sensation. Molly was staring at him with a pacifier in his mouth.

"Hey there, stranger," Percy vocalised lovingly to Molly, brushing a small curl away from her ear. "Nobody can take you away from me," he could feel sweat pouring down his neck, and his stomach sloshing with acid. "Not even your mother."

Percy took her into his arms and held her extremely close, feeling her breathing against his chest.

Penelope was trying to get up from the ground but fell again. She wrapped her hands around her stomach. "Don't touch her!" Penelope warned, but she sounded wary as she sobbed. "Don't you dare."

"She's wrong about me," his lip was trembling. "Everyone is wrong about me. You'll see. I'll show you."

Even now, being as dead as You-Know-Who, he could still remember how warm she was, bundled up and wrapped up in more layers than a trifle. He could still remember how it felt like to have her move in his arms, or to hear her yawn. He could still remember how the world felt still as he watched her lungs expand and as she drooled all over him and her pretty expensive blankets. Percy could close his eyes anytime and recall with startling accuracy exactly what shade of orange her sleepsuit was that day, or how she smelled like because she'd just had a bath and her hair was in little curly, wet tufts.

_"DON'T TOUCH HER!"_ As Penelope tried to run towards him, Percy apparated into his room.

Alone in his room, Percy panted heavily. People were afraid of Death Eaters, not their wives and a little spot of sunshine.

"It's going to be fine," Percy cried out, mostly to placate himself. "I…I have enough here for the both of us. I have enough here for the both of us." They thought that he was crazy but look! He had enough food, water and infant formula in here for a year if he wanted to. And look at him, so prepared. He wasn't crazy. He was just…cautious and eccentric.

Being so obsessive, Percy had so many wards in his room that Penelope would need Bill's help just to be able to break through the first few encryptions. Percy was still hyperventilating as he slowly placed Molly down on his bed. Seconds later, Percy heard Penelope banging her fist against the door. "_PERCY! OPEN THIS DOOR… NOW!" _

As she continued knocking more aggressively, he heard her break down into sobs.

Percy thought of giving in, but he knew for a fact that once he did, she'd snatch Molly away and whisk her off somewhere else. He'd never see her again. She wouldn't let him. _"YOU SELFISH PRICK!"_ Penelope shrieked at him, her voice cracking in the middle even as she screamed. She'd been screaming so much that Percy bet that her throat hurt, and she'd given herself a real headache. In fact, she'd kind of given him a headache too. _"I'LL CALL THEM, YOU KNOW! I'LL CALL THE AUROR DEPARTMENT! YOU'RE A DANGER TO HER! YOU'RE A DANGER TO YOURSELF!" _

Percy's heart started to ache. With all of Penelope's shouting, Molly had risen from her nap and was starting to cry.

Percy picked Molly up. "It's okay," he said, slowly rocking her on his lap. He let her sleep in his lap, even though his palms were sweating, and his head was pounding so fast and hard that he felt like he might faint. "We'll be fine."

_"THAT'S… IT!" _Penelope decided to say and then it went eerily quiet for a while. "I warned you, Percy! I _WARNED_ you_!"_

Percy shook his head. "They can't take you away." He'd never been more terrified in his life. "They can't take you away."

He closed his eyes and felt tears running down his cheeks. Percy didn't know why this was happening. He wished the room were a little darker. He wished that it were so small that the only thing that could possibly exist in the miniscule finite space was him and little Molly Ginevra Weasley, where nothing else could possibly ever happen. The silence was excruciating. All he could feel was his heart _thump, thump, thumping_ as blood was rushing to his head. He didn't feel safe here anymore.

After about an hour, Percy seemed to calm down enough to think coherently. He reluctantly placed Molly into the extra cot that he'd bought her. He felt sticky and disgusting, like he'd been out in the sun the whole day.

He took a long shower, but it didn't help him feel any better. Seeing dust and grime on his mirror, he wiped it down and was absolutely appalled by how he looked like. His eyes looked sunken in, his skin ashen and grey, his dull red hair was askew, and his lips were dry and cracked. His skin was paper-thin. He looked so dry and dehydrated.

Percy leaned against his bathroom wall, sobbing quietly to himself. It hurt so bad. This wasn't what he wanted for himself.

His mind was rattling with these horrible feelings of being unsafe and unwanted, and all that made them feel a little better was filling his house with things to plug in the ache that he had in his chest. Percy didn't even care what it was anymore. He'd hoarded posts, letters and bills, because how else was he going to know one day from the next? If he didn't, every day would feel the same. Once he'd tried to throw a half-eaten Chinese carton out of the house because flobberworms had started to infest it, and he couldn't stop thinking about it for hours. Throwing it out had absolutely paralysed him. He'd magically brought it back into the house. It wasn't even his. He didn't even really like Chinese food, but he didn't care. He was so aware of every item in this house, and even throwing away the smallest wrapper sent him into a mental breakdown.

Percy got dressed into a pair of oversized grey trousers and an old Quidditch sweatshirt that belonged to Charlie. He'd not touched his own trousers for months. He didn't want to feel his body anymore. He barely wanted to exist most times.

After he'd gotten dressed, he was just about to lean back down and sleep when a hungry Molly started crying. Percy, who'd felt a little better and less panicked, had gotten up from his bed and walked over to his fridge. By then, an hour had passed. Percy thought that maybe he'd be able to get away with this. Maybe Penelope had a work emergency or—

Just as he was shaking baby formula into her bottle, he heard the sound of a loud and angry knock on his door.

"Mr Weasley!" a stern voice called out, followed by a succession of knocks. Percy felt his heart stop into his chest. "This is Auror Duffy Sinclair. I'm sure you know why I'm here," he laughed as Percy held his breath. "Listen to me, Percy. Everything's going to be okay. If you come out now, nothing is going to happen. Your wife is here with me and she doesn't want to press any charges. She just wants her baby back. We've never talked face to face before, Percy, but I know that you're a fairly intelligent young man. I've heard some good things about you from your father. Arthur Weasley is a good man. This is just standard procedure… but you already understand that, don't you? So why don't you come out and let us talk this through?" Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. _Charges?_ His head spun. Percy hadn't heard such a carefully crafted string of lies before. His father said good things about him? And since when was Molly Penelope's baby?

It sounded like Sinclair was trying to break down his door. Percy dropped the bottle of milk that he was holding.

_"PERCY!"_ Penelope sounded like she'd been crying. Percy wanted to hide under his bed. "I told you! I told you!"

Straight after she screeched like a banshee, she dissolved into sobs. Percy could imagine what horrible things she'd already told the Aurors about him and felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. About how sick he was and about how he'd abducted their daughter. They'd probably seen the state of the house and just assumed that he was dangerous.

_"GO AWAY!"_ Percy yelled back at them, his hands shaking. "This is all your fault! You made me into this!"

Molly's cries got louder. She wasn't used to not being fed on time. Percy shakily took a clean bottle and started over.

"We just want to help you!" another voice came in after. Percy vaguely recognised this one. Nymphadora Tonks, even though he hadn't really talked to her before. Percy could only imagine what orders they'd gotten for this 'mission'. Get the baby out as safely as possible and then apprehend him? "If you come out now, nothing is going to happen!"

Percy shook the second bottle until the formula dissolved. He tested the milk on his skin to make sure it wasn't too hot.

"Mr Weasley, this is your final warning," Sinclair warned him futilely. "Come out now, or we will use unnecessary force."

He'd been banging the door for the last ten minutes! How much more 'unnecessary force' could he use?

Percy scoffed. If he'd been able to get through his wards, he would've already, but he couldn't! He picked up little Molly from her cot and sat down on his bed. He balanced her on his lap and then let her suck from the bottle.

It went quiet for a few minutes and Percy thought that they'd finally gone. That was until he'd heard _that_ voice. "Percy?"

He knew that voice, even through the thickest walls and the strongest wards. Percy was so torn because a part of him couldn't just open the door, because he knew there would be consequences. He knew how things seemed like to them. But at the same time, he was so conflicted because he couldn't…not after everything he'd done…

"Percy, open this door," he felt like he was about to tear his hair out. Percy couldn't believe they'd called his father for this.

He wept, really wept, as he cradled his daughter into his arms. She'd sucked the whole bottle down greedily. But he felt like he was in a trance. After she was done drinking the bottle, Percy walked over to the door slowly and opened the door, surrendering to what he knew was going to be a hellish backlash. Time felt like it stood still. Arthur Weasley was stood there, still in his gaudy purple Ministry robes. Percy couldn't recall the last time that he'd worn them. Percy didn't dare look at the other Aurors that were stood there. They probably thought that he was a monster… his father probably did too.

"It's okay," he heard Arthur tell him. He cooed at him like he was unhinged. He let a hand slowly cup his face and Percy just relaxed into that hold. It had been so long since he'd felt the slightest bit of compassion and love that he'd completely forgotten what was happening. He wanted to be loved so badly. "Why don't you let me see her?"

Percy's lip trembled. "She's lying," he'd never been in so much pain. He'd never felt so low before. "I'm not crazy."

"I know," Arthur whispered to him. "Will you let me see her?" he asked so kindly that Percy agreed.

He let Arthur slowly take the bundled-up baby from his arms. Percy reluctantly let him, even though every fibre of his being was shrieking at him not to. Every part of him didn't want Arthur to take her, because he was scared that this was going to be the last time that he'd ever had to hold her. And it was. It was the last time that he'd ever held his baby.

Percy closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm not crazy," he kept saying. "She's lying."

"I know," Arthur repeated to him, but Percy could hear the tinge of frustration in his voice. As if he'd frustrated him by being so bloody mentally unwell to begin with. He must've held Molly for a few seconds before he'd given her to Penelope. And that was when Percy felt time stand still as he'd come to this horrible conclusion that made him want to disappear.

His own flesh and blood chose Penny over him. His father chose Penny over him. His father chose _Penny_ over him.

Pain shot up Percy's spine, as he tried to lunge for his baby. An Auror grabbed him by his arm and pulled him back.

"Percy, listen to me for once in your life. This is for your own good," Arthur said. For his own good?! Percy was fuming. He'd never felt so betrayed in his life! How could he do this to him? He'd trusted him! What a fool he was, trusting his own father, who'd chosen his bloody wife over him. Percy cried harder but like Arthur Weasley cared about his anguish. Like he cared about him at all. "This isn't like you, Percival. You're…you're very ill, son. It looks like you can barely take care of yourself! You need to go to a hospital. How are you supposed to take care of…of…her if you can't—"

_"I'M. NOT. YOUR. SON!"_ Percy screamed. This stupid good for nothing family that had never done a single thing for him. When Arthur tried to touch his face again, Percy pushed him away with pale, dry hands. "Get away from me!"

Percy was being held down by a couple of Aurors that had obviously been lifting more than just quills and papers.

"Let go of me!" Percy tried to break out of their holds, but it was almost impossible. He didn't care though. He'd kick and scream and break things just to get them to let go of him. His throat hurt so bad from all the ear-curdling screaming that he thought he might pass out. When Percy was being lifted off the floor, he was about to lose it. "No, no, _NO!"_

They were walking past his hallway, which was absolutely covered in boxes, tables that haven't been assembled and vases that he didn't even like. There were cases upon cases of infant formula, along with nappies and rubbish bins everywhere.

"Where are you taking me?" Percy asked. When he got no response, he yelled, _"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?"_

When Percy was giving the Aurors holding him down a hard time, Arthur whipped out his wand and Percy shook his head. "No, no, _NO!" _he kept yelling, and before he could process what was happening, he'd been stupefied.

He remembered going in and out of consciousness, but he didn't recall anything about those fuzzy episodes.

He didn't know when he came to, but when he did, he was in St Mungo's. He was sweating profusely through his hairline the second he knew where he was. He felt nauseous and unwell. His head was pounding, and he thought that he might collapse from intensity of the light. Percy felt himself panting because everyone was staring at him. Him, and the escort of Aurors that were pushing his wheelchair. Percy tried to lift his hand, but he felt like he'd been drugged. He couldn't remember eating or drinking anything today, and it already looked a little dark outside. He felt so weak and tired.

But he was also so panicked that he could barely think. By the time that they got close to the locked down psychiatric ward, time stood still. After five minutes, the Aurors were buzzed into the ward. They had been granted access to explain Percy's situation. It was then that Percy was sure that they'd given him something because he was floating in and out of consciousness. It was so hard to stay awake. Every time he tried to keep his eyes open or lift his hands, he found himself almost powerless. It was just him and Arthur standing outside. What? The Aurors thought it would be safe for his father to be with his obviously dangerous, mentally unwell child? Percy thought, tormented by how much trust his own father had in him. The tears had dried on his face by then. He was so tired of crying, so tired of just being and he just wanted to go home. He remembered feeling like this when he was six years old, had started to spike a fever and his mum kept pushing him around in shops in Diagon Alley until he'd accidentally thrown up all over a robes' display. His mum had never apologised to him so much in one day.

"What have you done to him?" a voice sounded out from behind them. Even with fuzzy, bleary eyes, he could still vividly remember seeing Audrey Brown standing there with a clipboard, looking disgusted. He saw his name on her clipboard, along with some sort of information about him. Percy tried to read it, but his mind felt heavy and he was so tired.

A senior psychiatric healer, Alexander Greenford, was stood next to her. He had auburn hair and dark eyes. He didn't look very kind, but he didn't seem to be impressed with the Aurors. They didn't stay around for long. Alexander walked towards the ward, and Audrey followed him. Percy had fuzzy image of them using their identification cards to enter the psychiatric unit. Then he couldn't recall how long they'd waited. The details had gotten a little muddy then.

A few minutes later, the Aurors had left the unit. Audrey and Alexander followed them soon afterwards.

Percy found it really hard to keep his open. Everything felt so fuzzy, but even in the dim-lit hallway, Percy wished he could close the lights. He felt like he was also about to have a heart attack. When he opened his mouth to speak, the words got stuck into his throat. Percy found himself blacking out a little for a few seconds ever so often. It scared him. He wondered if he was ever going to feel normal again. He wondered how his father could let them do this to him.

"Well, Auror Sinclair, Auror Tonks," Alexander nodded off to them. He looked rather irritated. "I'm sorry to inform you that we cannot accept this case. Firstly, after any household incident occurs, you need to wait for a healthcare professional to assess the scene to decide whether or not this patient might benefit from further psychiatric evaluation. Secondly, it is not allowed to dispense strong sedating potions such as that you gave this patient without senior psychiatric healer authorisation, such as myself. Thirdly, we are willing to forgo this mess and not file an incident report for this breech in protocol. For now, you can take this patient home and healer Audrey will assess him tomorrow, considering she's already following up the case."

Sinclair didn't budge. "Mr Weasley is a threat to himself," he said. "And was just a few moments ago, a threat to his daughter and his wife. This constitutes as an emergency situation, hence why we had to deviate from protocol."

"But it's called protocol for a reason, sir. It's not meant to be deviated from," Audrey tried to keep a neutral tone but failed. "And it's also not _your_ decision whether or not any patient is a threat to himself or others. This requires a formal psychiatric evaluation, which even if I were to do now, Mr Sinclair, I wouldn't be able to since you'd sedated my patient."

Percy couldn't remember much else happening after. His head felt very fuzzy.

Sinclair nearly pissed himself, jolting up in fear when Percy suddenly broke down. Half-conscious, half-awake, he started crying and sobbing. "H…home," Percy slurred. They'd already taken everything else from him. They'd taken his daughter, his wife, his father might as well have put in the final nail in the coffin when it came to them ever reconciling.

"I'll take him to the Burrow, for your evaluation tomorrow," Arthur finally decided to say. "He wants to go home."

"No! No! _NO!"_ Percy had never fought so hard to stay awake. He didn't trust these people. He didn't trust anyone. He felt like he was sat watching paint dry after chugging down a lethal dose of Dreamless Sleep. He was sure that he couldn't spello-tape his own eyelids open if he'd tried. Every word that he said took a monumental force of energy.

"I don't think Mr Weasley means the Burrow when he mentioned that he wanted to go home," Audrey pointed out.

Sinclair was at a loss for words. "His house is a hazard," he told Alexander, as if he'd see reason when Audrey was failing to. "It's not safe for him."

Percy couldn't remember much else other than crying and sobbing before he'd lost consciousness.

When he next woke up probably an hour or so from then, Percy saw that he was in his room. He was still extremely groggy. He could barely lift his head. He was shaking, shivering from the cold in the room. But he felt relieved, relieved with the heaviest heart imaginable. Even though his head was so fuzzy, he could remember what happened a few minutes? hours? back and it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Percy sobbed into his pillow, hearing muffled conversations between the Aurors and his father. Then it went quiet, and he'd blacked out for a few more seconds.

The only times he was awake, he was crying, and everything around him felt so dulled down and muffled, like he was just watching the world go by him. He remembered trying to reach for his daughter's empty cot and feeling so broken.

He remembered waking up again after he'd blacked out for the millionth time. It was eleven at night. Arthur was sat beside him, holding his arms down which he didn't even notice were twitching. Audrey was listening to his chest with a stethoscope and looked concerned. Percy was sweating profusely and was feeling like he might pass out at any time again. He looked up at his father with tired eyes. Arthur met his eyes briefly, but he looked at him like he was a nutcase. He didn't trust him. He didn't want to listen to him, and he probably thought that whatever he said was absolute rubbish.

"My baby," Percy cried out weakly. "My baby." He'd never felt such loss before in his whole life.

He grabbed Arthur's arm and held on it tightly. "Bring me back my baby," it hurt to speak so bad. But like his father cared.

When Audrey went back to the hospital to get something, it was just him and Arthur. Percy kept staring at him, but he couldn't get over the vacant look in his eyes. It was like he'd ceased being a person in Arthur's eyes. It was like no matter what he'd said—no matter how much pain he was in, it didn't matter because he'd obviously lost his gobstones. He was obviously dangerous and crazy and not in his right mind. This was his safe space, his safe house, and he'd never felt so tired and anxious before in his life. Percy didn't want to imagine what everyone else would say about him. Just thinking about it weighed deeply on his mind. He'd never felt so alone and hopeless in his life, and it terrified him.

Percy knew right then that there was no going back. No matter what he'd said, no matter what he'd did, it was like his father just stared at him and saw this crazy, insensible fool. Arthur didn't trust a single thing he said. Arthur didn't care about his opinions or his thoughts. He was just this… _thing_… that had to be dealt with and that sickened him.

Arthur hadn't said a single nice thing since he'd been there. He barely touched him, almost like he was so unstable and volatile that the merest of touches would set him off. He hadn't tried to comfort him over his loss. He hadn't tried to ask him what had happened to him. What he'd done. How he'd suddenly went from a power-hungry fool to… to _this_.

He barely had any strength. Every limb felt like it was made out of lead. Even though it took the most effort that he'd ever had to put into anything, Percy took out his wand from where he'd tucked it away underneath his pillow—well, he'd bought three additional wands from a wand shop. Just in case. And look at how much it was helping him now! Noticing Percy pull out his wand, Arthur reached in for his robes. Before Arthur could even withdrew his wand, Percy managed to put him into a full body bind. It was almost miraculous, considering he could barely speak to begin with after the sedatives. Percy stepped over to the edge of the bed, his hands shaking as he still clutched on his wand.

"You don't care about me," Percy's throat hurt from all the crying. "You don't want me."

This was the only way that he'd listen to him, but even then, he felt like his words weren't registering. His father looked almost afraid of what he might do. "Why do you find me so unloveable? Why couldn't you even pretend to like me?" he kept shaking his head, whimpering. "Why can't anyone love me?"

He didn't dare register the emotions on his father's face. He didn't want to. _"Stupefy,"_ he called out meekly.

With his father blacked out (how did _he_ like it? Percy thought bitterly), he clutched his wand harder. He thought of the last few hours and wished he could tear out his hair and his skin until he ceased to exist at all. He thought of the fear in his father's eyes when he looked at him. He thought of how his mum would look at him with such pity that it made him feel sick. He thought of his siblings barely looking to him, because they wouldn't know what to say without him going off. He thought about being left alone because nobody knew how to talk to him, or deal with him. They were never going to treat him like a normal person ever again if they knew. They'd still hate him, but they'd also be terrified of how unstable he was. And why wouldn't they? Everyone else seemed to be scared of him. Everyone else didn't want to talk to him. Everyone else had left him. And he wasn't going to give them the chance to leave him too.

Percy pointed his wand back at his father. _"Obliviate." _If he could leave this house, he'd just Obliviate his whole family in their sleep. Forget that he'd ever existed, because it wasn't like it mattered anyway.

He sat back down on his bed. He rubbed away a few tears from his eyes. By then, Audrey had returned.

"What… what have you done?" Audrey asked, concerned. She leaned down to him. "Percy, what did you do?"

Percy didn't answer her. He just stared at his father's body. She took his wand away from him, not that he'd resisted her much. When she'd asked him again, Percy kept on belting out rubbish he could barely remember about how nobody cared about him and how nobody wanted him anymore. In between to drifting in and out of consciousness again with minor lucid intervals, he'd begged her not to remind Arthur Weasley of what happened that night and just take him home.

"Please, don't tell him about what happened to me. Don't tell him that I'm…that I'm like this. Don't tell him about…about Molly," Percy recalled begging at some point. He couldn't deal with the painful rejection twice.

"Percy," she said his name in a way that left his heart throbbing with sorrow. "Percy, this isn't healthy."

"I don't care," Percy said tensely. Did he look like he cared about being _healthy?_

He didn't know how she'd managed it, but she did. When she came back, she told him that she took him back to the Burrow and fed him a story about fainting at work. Percy nodded his head. He should be grateful, but all he felt was pain, especially when Audrey said that his mum seemed really nice. Percy scoffed, and went back to sleep. Then he woke up in the middle of the night, wondering if it was ever worth it at all.


	15. I'm Speechless

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Fifteen: I'm Speechless

* * *

George thought that maybe he should go back to telling this story, because Percy had no idea how to break the news gently—like… did it ever occur to Percy that at some point, he should've warned Arthur that he'd erased his memory? The whole room went silent after Percy said his last sentence and it stayed that way for a whole ten minutes. George wasn't even sure the last time his family hadn't said a word in a whole ten minutes! But it wasn't like George could blame them for being so speechless. Who even said that amount of information in under forty-five minutes? George felt like his head might just implode! Of course, Percy was about the least affected by this rather gruesome storytelling. He might as well be talking about the bloody weather.

Oh, yes! Being sent off to St Mungo's by his father in 1996 after his wife called the Aurors on him and took his baby from him forever? Yes, well, just another standard, run-of-the-mil Sunday roast chatter! George was stunned. It didn't even occur to that big-headed git that they were hearing this information for the first time and that it might be a _little_ distressing...

Molly was rubbing Arthur's hand. Their dad looked like he'd just been told he had forty-eight hours to live.

"Hey," Bill's voice was so low that George barely heard it. "Dad, it's okay."

"Percy," Arthur sounded pained. "I can't believe what I…" he trailed off. "I saw her. Your daughter."

Percy just slowly nodded his head. "You have," he said with a hint of a smile. "I'm sorry that you had to learn like this…I didn't exactly know how to tell you. It's not something that's easy to say and I'm not proud of what I've done but I…"

"_You're_ not proud of what you've done?" Arthur's voice was high and bitter.

"D… dad?" George reached for Arthur's other hand, which was shaking. "Dad, are you… are you okay?"

"Yeah, he's bloody great, George! What do you think he's going to say to you exactly? Why bother asking when you know what he's going to say?" Ron replied sarcastically and raising his eyebrow at him. "Perce just told dad that he'd been Obliviated! Oh, and that dad just fed Perce enough sedatives to turn him about as coherent as Charlie when he's had a few. And here I thought that their relationship couldn't be even more mucked up! What next, Perce? He butchered you by accident when he mistook your wasted arse for one of the Inferi You-Know-Who brought back?"

Ron piqued Percy's interest. "You know the word _coherent?"_ he was impressed. "And um… no, that…that didn't happen."

"Piss off, git," Ron responded back, to which Percy just looked a little downtrodden. "Hey, Perce, I didn't mean to. I just…"

"Ronald, watch that tongue of yours! You're a grown man for Merlin's sake," Molly cut him off with a glare. Poor Hugo and Rose were going to have their mouths hexed by cleaning spells by the time they went off to Hogwarts. "I'm-I'm sure your father tried his best under impossible circumstances! It sounded like your father had your brother's—um…best…"

Her voice trailed off. Molly straightened her back. "I'm-I'm sure your father did the best that he could," she concluded.

George shuddered when he heard Arthur scoff. He looked like he had a lot of contempt for himself.

"You did," Percy agreed softly. "Mum is right. You did the best that you—"

"The best that I could! If that's the best I could do then…" Arthur sounded bitter when he spoke. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. George didn't want to see his father cry. He had had enough of that at the Burrow these days, and the sight was always heart-wrenching. "Stupefying and drugging my child with sedating potions because he'd been upset straight after I've given his child away! It just… it sounds so bloody inhuman." He looked up at Percy, in disbelief at what he'd just learned. "Oh, dear Merlin, Percival," his throat sounded swollen with pain. "I wish that I—that…that…"

"I know," Percy cut him off before he'd gotten a chance to say anything. George didn't notice when Percy had miraculously changed his clothing. There should be some law saying you couldn't wear black if you were emaciated. He'd leaned down so that he was crouching down, holding Arthur's knee precariously. He was still floating a few inches off the ground. His glass-like inhuman-looking eyes were staring straight at their father, glowing almost in the darkness. "Hey."

George let go of Arthur's hand. Percy had placed both of his hands on top of Arthur's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Come on," Percy's tone was gentle. He didn't look like he could even look at Percy. "What's upset you?" he whispered.

"This isn't right," Arthur was now visibly crying, which was a sight that George didn't even want to look at. He thought that the most gut-wrenching things was to see his own parents cry. Fred looked like he was uncomfortable, probably because he could imagine that his parents were a bloody mess after he'd passed away. "You're upset with me. You…"

"Hey, I… I'm not upset with you," Percy quietly replied. His voice sent a warmth down George's spine.

Arthur looked at him in disbelief. "You aren't?" he looked confused. George felt that way too sometimes with Percy because his git brother was so okay with all the rubbish that happened to him that it was irksome and eerie.

"Well, do I look upset?" Percy asked with a raised eyebrow. A small smile found its way to Percy's lips.

Arthur smiled slightly, but the smile was weak and uncertain. "I…I suppose not," he replied quietly.

George was surprised at how nice Percy was being. _Pardon me?_ Percy sounded offended. George found himself smiling too.

"I was sick," Percy reminded him. Thinking about that really made George's chest hurt. Because if Percy were physically ill, nobody would be dragging him out of the house, telling him he wasn't allowed to be with his child anymore. Just thinking about it sounded inhuman. He was sick and unwell, and they'd decided that _he_ was a threat before they'd even given him a chance. "I really was," his voice cracked. "I mean, did you see my…" he looked broken, "my house."

That was what made George so sad, because he could see that Percy hated how he was like more than anyone else.

Arthur just shook his head. "We could…you don't have to…" he stammered. "It doesn't have to be like this anymore."

Percy looked torn. "Dad, I…I'm..." He closed his eyes. George remembered the rows that they'd had in the first few days, but even when he was frustrated with Percy, he knew that he had a right to be so upset. He'd given anything for them to fight right now, because the guilt gnawed at him every day. "I'm always going to be ill. You…you understand, don't you?"

"No," Arthur sounded like he was really fighting his tears again. Molly rubbed a few stray tears out of his eyes.

"Percy, I really think that-that…" Arthur finally decided to say. Percy kept his lips pressed. "We could've helped you."

"No," Percy replied quickly, without a second thought.

"Your mum wouldn't have let you stay in the house that was for sure," Arthur continued rattling on. "I don't think that anyone would've let you go so far into this if we were around. Not me, not your mother, not your brothers or sister or…"

George didn't know about that. How could you not know? He felt repulsed at himself for that.

"I didn't want to be helped," Percy admitted inaudibly. George knew that was true, but he also knew that there was no way that Percy would be dead if they'd still been talking to each other. If it weren't for that stupid rift, Percy wouldn't have died. Who died of starvation after a war ended? "I just…I wanted…" he paused. "I just wanted to feel safe."

George felt like it was a real shame that Percy wasn't with them. They would've made him feel safe.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "What…" he paused. "What is it like? What do you think about when you're outside?"

"I can't really say," Percy confessed. "It's just… the thoughts are so consuming... it's consumed me." George swallowed the lump in his throat. It did feel like that when he looked at him. "But I'm not going to change. I'm dead for Merlin's sake. Even if I _could_ change, what's the point of being well and dead?" there was so much resentment in his voice.

"Oh Godric," Arthur breathed in, shaking his head. "Percy."

There was a moment of silence and George thought that it was never going to end. He could hear Molly sobbing softly. He saw Bill stare at the Percy with a sordid look in his eyes. George could feel the weight of untold words in the air, and they weighed so heavily that George felt like if they didn't say it now, it was going to weigh on them forever.

Percy unexpectedly broke the silence, pulling George out of the hole that he was in.

"She's like you, you know," Percy said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "My daughter."

"She's like me?" Arthur echoed incredulously, staring at Percy with big eyes.

"Yes," Percy responded. Without waiting for an explanation, a paper whizzed into the room rather quickly. George didn't recognise the print and guessed that it had to be either an unpopular local paper or a muggle paper. George scoffed at Percy. Of course, Percy could have all this rubbish in the house and still know exactly where everything was!

George found himself biting back his lower lip when he saw the paper. It was some form of muggle school paper for a 'middle school'. The headlines were about debate teams winning and watching less of the 'telly' in order to lead an active lifestyle with some statistics about how many people in the UK spent their day on their arses, watching this mythical black box. Then George saw the title that Percy was pointing at and found his heart thud a little bit faster. _Eight-year-old Molly Weasley wins science fair project with her explanation of how airplanes stay up in the air! _The picture of Molly was grainy at best and of poor quality. But George could see that she really did look like their mum, but with gigantic glasses.

"She's beautiful," Bill finally decided to say. Percy bit back his lower lip, nodding. "Looks like mum."

"Yeah, Perce," George continued, watching Percy's eyes light up in pride. "She's a stunner alright."

"I know," Percy replied, and for a moment, George picked up on how sad he'd sounded.

When George read the article, he had to bite back his tongue to keep himself from laughing when he'd gotten to the point in the article where Molly said that she was very happy about winning the fair since her life dream (so far, at the age of eight) was to find out how airplanes stay up in the air. When asked what was next for someone like her, she said she wanted to know the function of a rubber duck! Merlin, she'd fit straight into this bloody inane family.

"Oh," Arthur looked conflicted. "This…this is a muggle school paper?" he asked. Percy nodded his head.

"Yes, I…" Percy shifted uncomfortably in his place. "Audrey brings a pile of Molly's things outside my house every year on my birthday along with flowers for…for the house I suppose."

Percy closed his eyes. He looked like he was remembering something. George wished he knew what. "I wished I…"

"Yeah, Perce?" George tried to get him to finish that sentence. _It doesn't really matter now_, was Percy's response to him.

"Well, I'm dead, so it doesn't really matter what I wish for anymore," Percy scoffed. There was a deep longing in his eyes that pained George to look at. Percy rubbed his eyes, and just shook his head, refusing to talk anymore. He looked so hopeless that it destroyed George having to look at him. "But I wish that I wasn't so… difficult," he said under his breath.

George knew that there was a part of Percy that accepted the way he'd died because he believed that he deserved it. He knew, even though he knew for a fact that it was bloody wrong.

Across the room, Fred and George met eyes. There was this wordless exchange. All George could do was shake his head. _It's not your fault either_, he mouthed. Fred looked a little surprised, but he didn't look convinced. George couldn't blame him. To know that your older brother had died a few days after you, and your whole family missing it because they thought they were honouring you? They tossed Percy's last words in the fire because the people that love you were so hurt over the fact that he didn't show up at your funeral? He felt a tightening in his chest. He was a little short of breath. George knew what Fred was thinking. He was thinking about how if he hadn't died, Percy wouldn't have either.

"Well, let's go on," Percy cleared his throat. There was so much tension in the air. "With the story… if you'd like." Bill nodded. Charlie's eyes were already fixed on Percy's face. Ginny's eyes were red and puffy. George tried to read what was on his mind, but he couldn't even begin to think how it must be like for everyone else. How much it hurt them too.

ONE pink-and-purple Puffskein rattle. Five white sleepsuits mildly stained with breast milk and Honeyduke's new fortified chocolate formula for happy babies. One pastel yellow blanket that would bring his mum to tears. Five boxes of partially used nappies. And one very empty white cot… three weeks after, Percy found himself shoving everything of his daughter's into cardboard boxes because he couldn't stand it anymore. He thought he was going mental. If he saw another Baby's First Educational Wand, he might bang his head into the wall until he passed out. Every time he saw her steamed steriliser and her small baby pink bath (well, one of many), he felt catatonic. In fact, he couldn't take it anymore so much that he'd decided he'd rather just sleep in his cramped, wet couch instead of his comfy, spacious bed, so that he couldn't see that cot anymore. A cot that he couldn't throw away no matter how hard he tried. Because what kind of monster would have difficulty throwing away chocolate frog wrappers but be fine with dismantling his child's cot and tossing it into the rubbish bin? He didn't even throw away rubbish!

Percy thought he really was going mental. He could still smell her sometimes—the faint smell of a baby that had just been washed, the smell of her disgusting top-up formula milk, the the smell of a fresh nappy straight out of the pack. He was sure that he was imagining it. Did you see his house? He had more things growing in his pantry than Sprout did in her greenhouse! He could probably study Herbology off his table counter! It hurt him so much that he didn't mind the smell of the rot in between the walls, or the sour-smelling odours in his couch. The more things he'd had in his house, the less it felt like Molly used to be here. He found himself comfortable in the smallest of spaces, where he felt like no memory could ever hurt him. No family to disappoint, no child to raise, no job to attach himself to. If he was nothing, then nothing could hurt him, and if he'd just stay here and do nothing, then everything would be fine. And he might finally feel calm again.

Every day, he was in hysterics. All that calmed him down was feeding delivery owls (although Hermes hated it) and being asleep. Between those two things, he was always on the verge of a breakdown.

Days started to meld together into one. It was a taxing effort to take a bath when there were three boxes of Penelope's favourite products sat there next to the sink, which was mossy and cracked. His bathtub would send Ron into a mental institution. It was filled with more spiders than water most of the time. Percy didn't even know where his wand was half the time. He just bought more wands to replace his lost ones. He hadn't seen his original wand in three whole months.

There were times he woke up in the middle of the night and all he wanted to do was just go back before the fight. Before he'd taken the job. Before he'd sent back his Christmas jumper. Before things with his family weren't so irreparable.

He just wanted to stuff his house with _things_. He wanted to hide himself in between doors and boxes and cease to exist all together. He just wanted to be alone, but at the same time, he was so lonely. He wanted to feel loved, and this was the closest thing that he'd ever get to feeling loved ever again. Because honestly, who was going to see him now? His family had written him off. His wife had left him with his baby. Roger Davis was the only nice person he had in his life, and he doubted that he would stay with him day in and day out to take care of him like he was a bloody child.

It hurt to live such a vacant, useless life, but the thought of dying alone and miserable terrified him so much more.

One day, he woke up in the middle of the night. His face was sticky with sweat and his heart was pounding in his chest. He tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn't. He kept his eyes closed and wished that everything would go away. About ten minutes later, he felt a hand stroking his hair and then rubbing his back. He knew that touch. He knew that smell. He could that presence like she was here just yesterday. Percy felt his heart beat ten times faster. Was this a dream? Was it really her?

"Percy," Penelope's voice sounded sweeter than a chocolate cauldron. "I'm so sorry," she squeezed his shoulder.

Percy's lips were trembling. "Penny," he remembered, his chest ached so much. He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. Just in case he was dreaming. "Is… is she okay? Is our baby okay?"

Penelope was quiet for a few moments. "Molly's okay," she said. "She can sit up without any help now for hours."

It hurt so much to think that he didn't see her sit up. It hurt so much that he hadn't held her in weeks. It hurt.

"Oh," was all he could say. He could barely get it out of his throat because of how swollen it was, how pained he felt.

"Merlin, what happened to you?" she sounded terrified, and a little sad for him. Her warmth was just the thing that he needed—it soaked him to the bottom of his bones. It didn't even matter anymore than she'd taken his own child away from him. It didn't matter that she was the one that drove him to take that job in the first place. He was going to apologise, he thought as his chest tightened. He wouldn't have been ill. It didn't matter because she was the only one that would be nice to him like this. She was the only one that would be so loving, so familiar, so comforting. "The house is so…"

Penelope rubbed his back, and felt a tingle run down his spine. "Come on," she pulled him up. "Come with me."

He didn't have to open his eyes to know how Penelope felt like. Her smell, her presence, the feel of her soft, warm hand on him… he would have to be particularly comatose not to recognise it. He could feel her in the room before she touched him. That was what happened when you were with someone for so long. And it was such a shame that he got so sick.

"Okay," Percy opened his eyes and was stunned by her. He could still remember how angelic she almost looked with her shiny blonde curls and baby blue eyes. _Baby_, he thought.

He didn't blame her for what happened. How could he? Percy couldn't stand to be around himself most of the time. He couldn't even blame her for taking his child away. He couldn't even wash his hair most days, and changing his clothes was such a momentous task. The Minister of Magic? Ha, his fifteen-year-old self would be appalled. His family would be disgusted, seeing how far he'd fallen that he didn't care whether or not he'd not showered in twelve days. His family that was probably fighting in the war whilst he was just sat here, stewing in his own self-hatred. He felt for his mum—the poor thing that had to suffer through an eighteen-hour labour for him, the poor excuse of a human being. He felt for his poor just-obliviated father that wasted his money feeding and clothing a useless waste of space. He even felt for the days where his brothers had only him to play with. If he hadn't existed at all, things would've been so much easier for everyone else. And Percy had a hard time believing that he was the only one that wished that he had never been born.

Penelope took him up to her bedroom, where she'd made him shower. He'd not washed himself in so long that he'd tinged the water muddy and murky. After two hours of showering, she let him sit whilst she'd focused on cutting curled up knots from his hair. She'd cut his hair until he barely had any hair left, and it was so short that it barely covered his pointed ears.

"Did you eat anything yet?" Penelope asked. Percy, who had no concept of time, just shrugged. The days had melded together into one, and he had no space whatsoever in his kitchen or anywhere else in his house to eat. He had a kitchen that was absolutely brimming with food and all of it had rotted away. He had stale loaves of bread he couldn't bear to throw away and half-off gallons of ice cream that he absolutely hated the flavour of. "Oh… okay."

Percy looked up at her and smiled weakly. "I'm on potions now," he said, as if it made anything better that Audrey had medicated him with about six different types of potions, some of which had him drugged out most of the day. Every time that Audrey leaving the house, he had a fight with her. "It's been three weeks."

Audrey looked concerned last time that she'd seen him. That was two weeks ago. And even she couldn't hide her disgust about how horribly he smelled and how badly he looked. She'd even bought him a box of soaps! He'd been so offended. But of course, he'd kept them. He couldn't bear himself to part with them. And everyone needed soap.

"Oh, that's…" Penelope didn't sound very chuffed for him. "That's great." She trailed her hands down his back.

He shuddered under her cold touch. Percy looked back at her. "I've taken them every day."

"Oh?" Penelope's voice was delicate. "What is it that you _have_ exactly?" her voice was a little more forceful and irritated.

The way she said that made Percy uncomfortable. She sounded like whatever he had was terminal.

"Audrey hasn't been here recently, has she?" Penelope and Percy shook his head. "You'd thrown her out. She… told me."

Percy could remember the way she looked at him. "She's repulsed by me," he said quietly. It hurt so bad to say that. Why would he want her into his home if she just stared at him like he was an infestation on his own? "She hurt me."

He waited for her to say something. The silence was so excruciating, and he felt like he couldn't escape. The room was too big. He felt like he was floating in space, aimless and overwhelmed just by the vastness of it all. It was hard to swallow.

"She told me what you have too. She can technically since I'm still married to you," Penelope said a little more sternly. Percy just shook his head. She was wrong. She was wrong about him. "She said that it was rare, and she's never heard of it being in a person this young before. It is called _senile_ squalor syndrome for a reason, you know. Because they people that usually have this are so old they give Dumbledore a run for his money. When I was getting coffee in the hospital, I even overheard the senior healer Alexander Greenford and her conversing with the consultant psychiatric healer about how they want to write a detailed case report about you. Because they're the first one they've seen have it at _this_ age. In fact, I don't think it's ever been reported!"

Percy stiffened. "There's a simple reason for that," he said acerbically. "I. Don't. Have. It."

She shook her head. Her voice cracked as she sobbed and screeched at him. "So, you don't compulsively hoard rubbish? So, you're not living in this safety hazard that you've been sent Ministry warnings about in the last month that you've completely ignored? Because that's what a _squalor_ is, Percy! It's living in this absolute filth!" she gestured to his hallway. "There are homeless people sat outside that are in less risk of dying of hunger tonight than you are! Don't you think that's abnormal? There are things living in your kitchen, Percy! There's more of those than there are in the Forbidden Forest! And you don't seem to think that it's a problem! You don't think that it's absolutely stomach-churning. You're really, really sick, Percy. You don't even know how ill you are because you can't even _SEE_ that this isn't normal! You need to go to a hospital. You need to be properly locked up. That's what Audrey told me. She thinks that maybe there's something that's genuinely wrong in your head—that can be treated if you just get out of this bloody house and go to a hospital. Maybe you have a gigantic mass in your head and are dying with that stupid giant head of yours or…or…"

Percy just shook his head, tears falling fast and hard. He was in so much pain. Everything she said hurt him so badly.

"She didn't say it like that. She's so _nice_. She knows how clever you are under all of this," Penelope gestured to his body. Percy said nothing as he watched her rub her tears away. They just came falling faster. He opened his mouth to tell her to go, but his tongue was so heavy. "She's good for you. And it hurts her more than it hurts me to see you so ill. I think she _really_ likes you…I think that she's one of the few people in the world that can actually see how you're like without _this_. Because I can't anymore. I know how you're like, Percy—how you're really like, and you're just not…not yourself anymore and I don't know how you can be again. I don't know if you're ever going to be normal again and I…I can't…"

Penelope let her hands drop down to his shoulder. Percy looked up at her, but she stared at him like he wasn't really there.

"You're wrong," Percy also overheard Audrey. "She's disgusted by me. She doesn't like me… nobody likes me."

Penelope rubbed his back when he started to cry. "Hey, it's alright," she said. "I'm sorry." But he knew that she meant it.

The way that she stared at him left him so unsettled. He'd only seen that look once. It was when his mum had dragged him down to see one of his aunts before she'd died. It was the look that his mum gave his aunt Genevieve when she knew that she was dying right there in front of her very eyes, and there was nothing that she could do about it. And when Penelope looked at him like that, Percy knew that all she saw was a lost cause.

"Come on," Penelope's tone was gentle and warming again. "I've got you clothes." She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of oversized robes and trousers. Percy just stared at them with glossy looking eyes. "Come on. You need to eat."

She took him to her bed. Penelope had packed him a bowl of pea and ham soup. She made it herself. It was still warm when he ate it. He remembered scoffing it down like he hadn't eaten in ages. The food went down just so quickly, and he'd scalded his tongue from how hot it was. Penelope didn't say anything else.

The next day, she bought potatoes, lamb and leeks. She had pudding for him too. A slice of blueberry cheesecake.

The day after that, a rather confused-looking Roger Davis bought him a steak and kidney pie with all the trimmings. It was nice, but it reminded him too much of how his mum made the best meat pie in the world and left him feeling hollow.

"Are you alright?" he kept asking him, to which Percy just nodded his head. "You look so… and your house is…"

"What's wrong with my house?" he'd cut him off with a warning glare. "Do you want to know about your spell or not? Because that's why you're here, isn't it? It's because I can find a spell for your wrackspurts." Roger looked apprehensive, but Percy just shook his head. "Isn't it?" he said a little forcefully to which Roger tentatively nodded his head.

"Yes," Roger looked like he did want to know but he didn't want to ask. As if he shouldn't ask. "Um… I would. Like to know about my spell that is." He paused and kept staring at him. "Merlin, you look so ill," he heard mutter.

"I'm not _ILL!"_ Percy shrieked, almost dropping the plate off his lap. "And if you think that I am, you can stop seeing me."

"You're right," Roger looked startled. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Can…can you tell me about what you've done? I really have come for the spell. Honest. I-I know that you're brilliant and you've got everything done and…"

It was a month after that Percy had finally been able to really work on it. He had it done in a week. He could think a little more clearly now that he was eating regularly and had gained enough weight that his old pants fit him again. But other that a little low blood, he didn't think that anything else was wrong. And he was sure that it was genetic too. His mum used to have low iron levels all the time.

It was on a November day that Percy had sent the owl saying that he'd finished the spell. It was cold and dark outside.

Roger Davis had materialised in seconds after Percy had sent the owl about the spell. Before Percy could even utter a single syllable, Roger hugged him so hard Percy was sore he'd cracked a rib.

"Merlin, you're absolutely sensational! Do you know what you've done here? Do you know what you've _done?"_ Roger rattled off in his ear whilst Percy was wondering if he'd punctured a lung, or if he was going to see straight again. That afternoon, Roger kept on running all around the place, trying to smooth battered-looking carpets and cram magazines, pacifiers and rattles that were spilling out of the couches. He was acting nuttier than a pound of Honeyduke's mix! Percy thought that he was going to break his expensive camera in his quest to make Percy's rather dreary living room more like it was made for—you know, general living. Apparently, Roger wanted to show the public photographic proof and couldn't do it in this 'hoarder's erotica.'

That was when he'd got the wrackspurts to show up, glowing in the darkness with a spell. Roger didn't even need them to float into his ear and make him dazed. He was plenty dazed. Percy stared at the glowing things in his room and all he could think about was that he'd felt like the lights inside of him had been extinguished. He felt for these little creatures, small and defensive as their glow faded before his eyes in seconds. They turned invisible in seconds, borrowing into his mind. In the cloudiness and confusion right before him, Percy felt a clarity that he hadn't felt in ages.

The next set of spells only took two hours. By the end of the week, they'd accumulated photos and information about sixty-eight creatures, all of which had been thought to be mythical or non-existent. He'd written the first book in just three weeks. He worked on it when he was not writing articles for Challenges in Charming. Percy had never felt so productive and empty in his life.

Then just a few days before Christmas, Scrimgeour had appeared by his door. He gave him explanations, but Percy's head was fuzzy. He didn't know what to say, or what Scrimgeour was saying. He couldn't recall it if he'd tried. But he clearly heard Scrimgeour's ultimatum: either he came with him to the Burrow, or he'd tear his 'travesty of a house' down.

Percy wanted to kick and scream, but the thought of having Aurors break down his doors left him weak.

If he said no, he could lose his house. And if he lost his house, he didn't know what he'd do. He might as well be dead.

Percy, who had not seen sunlight in months, just nodded his head. "I'll… I'll accompany you, Mr Minister." He didn't even care why Scrimgeour wanted him to be there, but all he knew was that something terrible was going to happen.


	16. The Death of Percy Weasley

_although i'm not really sure if anyone is reading this anymore, there is one more chapter to go and then an epilogue.  
_

* * *

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Sixteen: The Death of Percy Weasley

* * *

"N-n-n-no…_JUST STOP! PRECY, JUST STOP!"_ Ginny's broken voice sounded out the second that Percy mentioned Christmas of 1996. Her pale hands shook slightly, and her pupils, dilated and shiny, avoided meeting George's eyes. "We all know what happened at Christmas! It was the last time w-we saw you alive! I don't need you to tell us all about how y-you suffered getting out of the house just to have stupid, mean ole Ginny fling mashed parsnip at you when…when…"

Percy visibly flinched from where he floated. George felt his hands grow clammy and cold, and his mouth go dry. Percy's translucent-looking gelatinous blue orbs had darkened, and he pressed his lips together into a tight line.

Ginny was biting her trembling lip, her big brown eyes wet with unshed tears. "Just stop," she repeated weakly. "Okay?"

"Okay," Percy repeated in a cracked voice, looking distraught. "Al…alright," he refused to meet Ginny's eyes.

"Hey," Harry reached over to Ginny, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright." Ginny just shook her head.

The room fell into an ominous silence. George stared back at Percy and he really, really felt for him. How did it feel to know that your family didn't even want to listen to what happened to you anymore? Because it hurt so much? What about dying alone in a house in the middle of nowhere, waiting for people that would never come? How much did _that_ hurt?

George was biting the inside of his cheek. He was so mad. Mad at Ginny for not being able to take it. Mad at Percy for not telling them that he was so bloody ill to begin with. Mad at his mum, just because she was there and not actively helping.

"It's… it's not fair, Gin," George said. He knew that she was his little sister and she wasn't dealing well with Percy's death, but newsflash to her? Nobody was! Arthur had just learned that he'd been Obliviated by Percy because he acted like an arse. He was biting down his lip so hard he might just draw out blood. He wasn't going to let her do this. George wasn't going to let _her_ wonder about what Percy would've said a few weeks from now. He was going to help her, even if she didn't see it like that right now. "Do you think he wanted to come home and be pelted by parsnips? But the least we could bloody do is listen to what he has to say. I know you don't want to hear this—Merlin, I don't want to hear it either. Fred and I were laughing when he left! Do you think I'm chuffed about everything that's happened between us?" George asked.

He felt ill. He looked over at Percy and nodded his head confidently. "Perce. Just…just tell us," he said weakly. "Tell us whatever you want. Whatever will make you feel better…tell us _whatever_ that's on your mind, okay?"

Percy didn't seem swayed by George's compelling rant. Harry looked annoyed, eyes lasered in at George's face. "You're not the only one that gets to decide on things just because you have some kind of…of bond with Percy!"

"Get off your high horse for a bit, mate," Ron supplied coldly. "You think Percy telling her that she's mucked up is going to bring him back or help him any? Do you think that it's really going to change anything to have a retelling of something she's beat herself up about enough already?" George just stayed quiet. Ron scoffed. "So, why does she have to bloody torture herself about it even more? Tell me, _Georgie!_" he replied tensely. George opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stuck in the roof of his mouth. Angelina grabbed George's hand and squeezed it.

Angelina's amber-coloured eyes locked with Ron's. "I know it's hard to believe, Ron, but he isn't lashing out on Gin. He doesn't blame her for anything that's happened—and you know that! But you can't ask Percy to tell you what happened to him and choose which part of the story you want to hear," her tone was calm. George curled his fingers with hers.

"Yeah, Ronniekins," Fred agreed weakly. His eyes were on Angelina's hand, firmly holding George's. It must be strange for him. To see someone that he had loved before be married to his twin. It made you think, didn't it?

Ginny just rubbed tears out of her eyes. "Well, she doesn't have to be here to listen to this," Harry tried to defend her. "Percy, are _you_ offended by the fact that Ginny doesn't want to listen to this?" he asked confidently.

Flushing at Harry's direct question, Percy shook his head. "Err…not at all." That sounded very convincing!

"It's not about offending him," George muttered under his breath, sweat trickling down his forehead. "It's about the principle of the bloody thing! Percy died in this house all alone because we'd thought that he was being a gigantic prat about Fred's death. We didn't even give him a chance to explain what had happened to him! Now, he's gone—he's been gone for years—and this is finally our chance to listen to what happened to him… but you don't want to because you don't want to hear about you throwing parsnips at his face at Christmas! You already know you did it, Gin! And Fred and I laughed—_ha ha HA_. Do you think that we're proud of what happened? Do you think I want to listen to Percy tell me that I've been a bloody arsehole to him? Do you think I _want_ to know what he was thinking about when he…" George sobbed.

George locked his eyes with Percy's. He looked ten times smaller in the darkness. "When he died," he whispered.

Percy pursed his lips tightly. "It's really no trouble," he replied in hushed tones. "Well, _after_ the Christmas of 1995—which by the way, I only managed to get through because I've taken a rather large dose of anxiety-reducing potions, the days…"

THE days started to coalesce further and further together, until they became just one single infinitum.

Days of sleeping, reading, writing, sleeping, reading, writing, melded together until it became habitual and thoughtless. Even studying for his exams at Hogwarts didn't feel like this! He felt like he was just a machine run on _eckeltricity_. A machine that now lived inside of a swamp inside of what used to be a beautiful house inside a 'somewhere in Devon'. It was hardly a life to be proud of now, was it?

Percy lived in a house that had a gorgeous, proud history that he was too depressed to even look into. A house where he'd first brought his thirty-nine-plus-four gestation baby girl thirty-six hours after she'd been born—and where she'd been taken from him. Where his father gave his daughter away right in front of his very eyes. How could you? Percy still thought at the dead of the night. This was the house where his life had ended. And he'd been such a fool. He hadn't even noticed that he'd stopped living. Now, it was too late. What hope was there for someone that was afraid of the sun? How did you see in the dark with no light? Of course, Fred and George probably thought he'd never really had much of a life. And they were right all along. _Stupid_, Percy thought. _Stupid, pathetic prat._

In just a few years away from the Burrow, Percy Weasley had morphed into something unrecognisable. His own mum would have a hard time believing what had become of him. Minister of Magic? Percy scoffed. He'd laugh. He doubted he was ever going to be able to get himself to go outside to buy a pint of milk ever again.

At night, Percy imagined the ghosts of the people that used to live here, existing in between crevices and hidey-holes. At times, it felt like they were waiting until he'd one day join them. At times, it felt like even they would reject him, just like everyone else had rejected him. Just like he'd rejected his poor mum's Christmas jumper, which he'd give anything to have again. Just like he'd rejected Charlie's advice on how to ride a broomstick. Just like he'd rejected his father's help when he'd first started working at the Ministry. Just like he'd rejected his place as the family git. He'd give anything to be called a git again. He'd give anything to go to the Burrow again and sit in his room, reading books until eight in the evening and begrudgingly going downstairs for family dinners. He'd been so lucky and he'd been too foolish to know it. Even if he didn't have an intractable fear of leaving his house, what would he even say to his family now? _I know you've thrown parsnips at me just two days ago, but do you still love me? Did you ever?_ Percy had no idea, at the time, that his days were numbered. He didn't even have any idea where he'd kept his sodding calendar anymore. But it was alright. He could just buy another calendar, and then another, and another, and he'd stuff them somewhere where he definitely wouldn't lose them! Until he did. Because everything got lost in his tiny, drab house. There were boxes flying everywhere. Sheets of paper spanning walls, and wallpapers that were peeling before his eyes. This was who he was now. And it wasn't good enough. _I'm sorry._

What would his mum think if she could see him now? Would she even recognise him? Percy could still remember the way that she'd hugged him on Christmas Day at the Burrow. It hadn't even felt like Christmas until he'd walked into the Burrow that day. He'd almost forgotten how it was like. When she held him, he felt all these emotions come back to him. _I'm sorry. Take me back. I'm a git. Help me. Please_. But he just ran off, just like usual. And he came back to a house that had packages of decorations that was never going to be put up.

After all, what was there to celebrate?

It felt like it had been so long since Percy was welcomed into a house. It had been so long since he'd received any kind of unconditional love that it felt foreign to him, to imagine that someone would come to him if he'd ever needed, if he'd asked. His days were consumed by his loneliness and pain. Percy wondered why he couldn't be more like the rest of them, or even brave Harry or bookish Hermione. How was he born so wrong? Why didn't anyone love him?

If they could see what would happen to him now, Percy was sure they'd be repulsed. He felt like a shell all the time.

His house was falling apart, and Percy Weasley was falling apart too. The mere idea and the essence of Percy Weasley was coming undone. He was no longer Prefect, Headboy, and son of Molly and Arthur Weasley. He'd become just Percy of this strange house in Devon that nobody even really knew existed except for delivery owls and angry, grumbling seventh years that hadn't done well on their exams, showing up with packages too big for owls to carry. He was son of nobody. He was brother of nobody. He was nobody's employee. He was nobody's anything. He wasn't even a patient anymore. Over the days, the pain that he felt made him stop all his potions and refuse to see Audrey again. He'd been living in these four walls for so long that he'd forgotten how the outside world felt like. Even when he'd gone to the Burrow, it didn't feel like he was going back home. All the memories of a life outside of his house had become unfocused and unclear, like he'd been looking at his pre-agoraphobia life without his glasses.

Memories of everything but this house were becoming a fantasy. Had he really been _normal_ just a year ago? Was that even possible?

Percy had finished five books in the series over the last year. Roger kept telling him that he was a genius, that he was brilliant and that he'd done something revolutionary. Him? Revolutionary? He couldn't even get his copy of The Daily Prophet from the front porch without collapsing into hysterics. He was far from anything extraordinary. He'd squandered his potential the minute that he left his mum's womb. And he felt sorry for her, to carry something as heavy of a burden as he was for so long. Just thinking about it sometimes made him wish that Merlin would've saved her the trouble.

He didn't really want to die. Percy just wanted to feel safe, and the only way that he'd ever feel like this now was when he was sandwiched between things, where he didn't feel how much space there was in him and the world.

Not that there was any space of him left anymore. Penelope nearly lost it when she'd come to see him the day before, wondering how he'd gotten so thin. Percy couldn't really recall. He didn't have a taste for food anymore. It all felt so useless. All he could think about was wishing that he were back into Hogwarts, with its bristly mornings down into the Great Hall. He missed the animation that came with hot cross bun breakfasts and slightly burned yellow omelettes. He missed eating lunches with Oliver Wood out into the open sun, where the margarine would just melt on his tongue. He missed eating his mum's Sunday roasts, even if he had to be dragged to them most of the time. He missed just coming downstairs and smelling a mixture of aromas coming from the pots and pans she'd have lined up. He missed eating an ice-cream on a summer days, eating Molly's homemade birthday cakes, and snuggling up to a two-sickle hot chocolate by the fire. He missed the feeling of eating with pleasure. He missed the feeling of feeling pleasure. He missed the memory, the celebration, the joy that came with eating. And he missed having a kitchen that wasn't so covered in plates and wrappers that he couldn't throw away. Even if he wanted to scoff a massive dinner, he couldn't. Where would he even put the leftovers?

One evening, Percy could remember very clearly Penelope apparating to his bedroom. She hugged him so tightly that he thought that she might break his rib, and she sobbed into his chest.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she cried out loud. "Why are you doing this to yourself? Percy, you're…you're going to die like this. In this house. You're going to die."

Percy remembered being so fuzzy headed that he couldn't even form the words to say what he wanted. _I'm not going to die. This can't be the end. This just can't be._ If he had gotten so bad so quickly, then why couldn't he just get better?

He said nothing, just stared at her impassively. The lack of food barely made him able to think. He spent days, feeling like he was just floating in his own house. He spent days not feeling anything at all. And in the lucid moment where he realised what his life had built up to, Percy broke down. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't what he wanted when he watched Bill and Charlie go off to Hogwarts. This wasn't what he wanted when the Sorting Hat had put him into Gryffindor (what a joke!). This wasn't what he wanted when he finished his exams with top marks. This wasn't what he wanted when he left home because he had this foolish belief that he was right. This wasn't…this wasn't…

Years passed with him living in a box. Penelope and Roger apparated to the house, fed him, talked to him, and disappeared. Most days, Percy's head was so heavy he couldn't think of anything to really say to them.

He spent most days writing. Roger sent him owls with photographs of spells they'd used.

Bit by bit, they tracked down every single beautiful being from _The Quibbler_. From Roger holding silvery looking moon frogs that were plumper than a package of extra-big chocolate frogs to taking picture of glossy-coloured squishy, pale pink aquavirius maggots living in clumps of wet sand. Once Roger had brought him a bottle of dabberblimps in sea water, so translucent you could barely see them in natural light. It took everything in him to give them back to Roger, because it made Percy ill to think of any of these wonderful creatures being mistreated. There were days where Percy would hold the photograph in his hands and have this deep longing to have been there when Roger had seen these beautiful creatures.

Life was painful but static. Up until 1998, where war had left Penelope and Roger's visits sporadic at best.

When delivery services ceased for weeks at a time, Percy nearly starved to death, surviving on mealy diabetic crackers, somewhat expired bottles of chocolate milk and frozen peas eaten still cold and hard. As people laboured and lost in the war, Percy's life remained unchanging. There were no threats, no bloodshed, no joy, no pain beyond the normal. It was as if the war had happened in a different country, and he'd just heard about it from afar. It was as if the fight that he'd had with his father was based on fantasy.

It made him wonder. How did people that were disabled, bedbound or agoraphobic try to help in a war? Why did they have the privilege to live when young, healthy wizards with lives that were full of potential had their lives end in battle?

It wasn't as if the war was right at his doorstep. And even if it was, Percy didn't open the door for anyone. He was afraid of the blinding light of the Killing Curse more than he was the thought of actually dying. But nothing would make him falter. Nothing would make him open the door, not even for death at its most brutal hour.

Not that death would really want him.

Percy heard of Fred's death through disjointed owls from a distraught Penelope. When he'd heard, he spent the day feeling numb and detached. The next day, Roger sent him a copy of _The Daily Prophet_, which led him into a colossal meltdown.

The image of Fred, grey and hard as stone, was forever seared into his memory. The image of George clinging onto him swirled around in his head and all Percy could think about was the fact that he was not there. For the first time in ages, he'd felt the weight of his decisions, the weight of his disease—and for a second, in this utmost clarity, realised how ill he was. For that whole moment, which felt like it lasted an infinity, Percy wanted to be there so badly. He wanted to go back. It was as if he'd woken up from years of being in a coma. When he saw himself in the mirror for the first time in months, he nearly had a heart attack. He looked like a monster. He looked like how he felt on the inside, small and deplorable. He had never loathed himself more in that moment. He'd never wanted to be so dead and alive than he had in that moment. But death was easy. It was the thought of having to absolve his sins that was hard. And that was what Fred deserved…

But now that he wanted help, who would help? Him, an agoraphobic hoarder now when people were recovering from war injuries? When he hadn't heard from Audrey in months and wasn't even sure if she was alive anymore? Who helped you when you couldn't leave your house? When you feared everything?

Percy wanted to leave his house so badly just to see him, but the thought of being _outside_ left him debilitated.

It was just three days after Fred's death that Percy found a solution: a treatment facility just north of Brighton. One that was about as dark and dreary as Azkaban was described. The staff was described as efficient but cruel. The treatments rather harsh but necessary. Percy thought that maybe they might be able to help him. Shakily, he was about to send a letter to them to apply. He didn't care if they electrocuted him or cut off part of his brain. He had to be better than this. Surely.

The sound of a _pop_ brought him back to reality. With glassy eyes, Percy looked up at Roger Davies, stood there awkwardly with a takeaway bag stuffed with chicken tikka baguettes and mocha lattes made with full-fat milk. He was in a pair of beautiful white robes that brought out the grey undertones in his stormy blue eyes. In contrast, Penelope - _his_ Penny - looked rather ill. Her usually vivacious blonde hair that looked like it hadn't been combed for days. Her hair was full of more tangles and knots than their complicated relationships. Not to mention, there were spots all over her face! Spots! Percy was sure Penelope didn't have any spots when she'd been at Hogwarts. She was wearing the baggiest, most unkempt looking trousers with an oversized, dirty peach-coloured shirt. Percy shuddered. She didn't look like herself. Sometimes, Percy wondered if she blamed him for ruining her life. Because he doubted that she'd look like that if she had fallen in love with Roger Davies. _Did she even like you?_ Percy had to wonder. _Especially when this is what you've done to her?_

"Hey," Penelope's voice was so soft that Percy barely heard her.

Percy smiled back, but from the looks of her, he disgusted her by him. Disgusted by his grimy skin, dry lips, shrunken figure, and sunken eyes. He had a constant layer of dust and rot on him most days. He knew that he was disgusting, but it still hurt to see her stare at him like he was subhuman. "Hello," he replied weakly.

"Hi," Roger said very awkwardly. He waited a few minutes for Percy to talk about something, but he didn't.

What would he say? He hadn't seen them in ages. "I'm sorry about Fred," Roger said, but Percy said nothing.

Percy didn't know what he could say that would explain just how pained he was.

There was a moment of silence as Penelope and Roger stood in Percy's dim, flobberworm-infested home. Percy tried to feign interest in the baguette that Roger had bought him, but he was full after the first three bites. He'd finished half before wrapping it back up. Before Percy could keep the bag, Roger snatched it from him.

"No! I…" Roger paused when he saw the flash of hurt in Percy's face. "Um… I'm collecting these now. Um, this shop specifically. They do a three-for-one deal if you bring in enough…um…bags back," Roger hurriedly tried to explain.

"Oh," Percy sounded surprised. "That sounds…" _like a lie. You don't trust me._ "Interesting. Well, I suppose."

Roger gave an uneasy smile. They didn't trust him with rubbish, because they knew that he wouldn't throw it away.

Percy was thinking about Molly. She'd be able to walk now he was sure. How did she look like now that she was closer to two? What did she like? Did she know about him? Was she happy? The thought of her growing up not knowing he existed absolutely destroyed him. Because how could Penelope try to explain how he was like to a toddler? "How's Mol—"

"She's not the one that convulses at the sight of light! She's not the one that did nothing in a bloody war!" Penelope cut him off acerbically. She didn't look like she was there to show him pictures of her. "Are you even trying to get any help? Or are you just going to convince yourself that dying in this filth is exactly what you've always wanted?"

"Penny, I—" Percy was interrupted by her again.

"Don't you Penny me, Percy," she shook her head, curls falling in front of her watery blue eyes. "Don't you Penny me ever again." Penelope's lips were pursed tightly into a thin line. She looked weak and vulnerable as her shoulders slumped and shook. This wasn't the Penny that he knew. This wasn't like her. "I hate you! You know that, don't you? That I hate you?"

Her anger had transformed into sadness and she sobbed. "Godric," she cried out. "You selfish, stupid _BASTARD!"_

"I'm sorry," was Percy's quiet, unhelpful reply. Who cared if he was sorry if he never got any better?

"Why did you have to become like this?" she wailed. "Why couldn't you just be normal? Why...why did I have to love you?"

"I'm sorry, Penny," Percy repeated pointlessly. "I love you too," he didn't know why he said that. It was the truth, but he didn't know why he said that.

"Penny," Roger looked at her with a pleading look on his face. "Please," he begged. "He's sick. Just…leave him alone."

"Why is he the only one that matters?" Penelope asked in between sobs. "What about what _I_ feel? What about his parents? What about his dead brother?" Percy flinched, and felt the hole in his chest grow, prickling and heavy.

Percy felt awful. He wondered how it must feel to have someone you love turn into…into whatever he was. The strong hatred that she had in her eyes when she looked at him made Percy uncomfortable. He'd never seen her like that before.

How could she say that she loved and hated him at the same time and still mean both of these things?

"Hey, Perce," Roger tried to get Percy's attention. "Percy?" He looked up, but he wasn't really in the mood to listen.

"I…I read what you've sent me." Roger was always awkward around him these days, but he couldn't help but still have some shard of enthusiasm for their project. "I've read all the books. All five of them. They're amazing. You…you should be really proud." His voice cracked at the end, as he set the mocha cups down at the table, which was absolutely filled to the brim with dirty, smelly papers, crumbled, torn bits of parchment and ink pots that had congealed bits of black and blue. "Godric, Percy, you're really brilliant. And it's just…"

Roger closed his eyes. "It's such a shame." The way he said that hurt him so much.

Penelope, who had stopped sobbing now, just scoffed. She looked tired. "Yes, Percy Weasley's super special Magizoology books," she said a little thickly. "Because everyone wants to read a book written by a freak of nature that hadn't even felt wind on his face in two years." Percy felt like the room had dropped ten degrees. He shuddered. "Right, Percival?"

"You're right," Percy whispered. Why would someone want to read an adventurous book written by someone like him?

He didn't even have the luxury to care about it either. His brother had died. And he wasn't even there.

He knew that Roger had heard him, but Roger chose to ignore him, like he chose to ignore Penelope. "Charlie will love them," Roger brought up. "I've talked to a publishing agent, like I've mentioned before—and-and they said they could publish the books without meeting you." He smiled weakly. Percy just shook his head. He wanted to back away but couldn't because he was next to the stairs. "You deserve this. You deserve to have people read what you w-wrote a-and…"

"No," Percy sounded out, his voice filled with fear. "I don't want anyone to know. I..."

Percy backed away a little bit, and Roger inched forward. _I don't deserve it_, was all that Percy could think. He should've died instead of Fred. He was already so ill. He had no life ahead of him. The only reason he was going to finally receive help was because he had to go to his family and try and make it up to them. Even if it was going to take him his whole life.

"Come on, Percy," Roger inched a little closer, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should—"

"Get away from me!" Percy pushed him back impulsively.

When Percy shoved Roger backwards, a flash of anger just filled his eyes. He pushed Percy back with a force he shouldn't have for a bloke whose eating habits consisted of gluten-free crackers and half-off diabetic chocolate shakes he hated.

Percy felt blood rush into his head when Roger pushed him back. Days of not eating had left him weak, unsteady, and lightheaded. Percy found himself wobbling backwards as he lost his balance and came crashing down the rickety-rackety stairs. He fell head first, and the force was so powerful that Percy swore that his skull had split in half. Even with his eyes open, the whole world went black. He could feel the blood drain from his face, as his head pounded wildly. He moved to feel the wet damp patch at the side of his head. Was this it? Was this the end?

Grey spots were in front of his eyes and he found himself blacking out. He felt a darkness consume him. Beside him, Roger had crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulders. "Percy?" he started to shake his limp form.

"Percy?" he sounded alarmed. "Percy?" his voice was filled with shock and fear.

He laid him back down gently, and Roger panted. The hands that were holding him were cold and clammy.

"Pen, Pen, he's bleeding so much," he remembered Roger saying. "We…we have to take him to St Mungo's. He can't…he…" he remembered the stabbing pain in his chest, thinking of having to leave this house but he couldn't move his limbs, couldn't open his mouth and felt like he was floating away but he also felt like he was so heavy. "I think he's going to die."

There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity. It was deafening and made him ache. Percy saw nothing but blackness.

Penelope dropped down beside him. Percy would know. He knew how it felt like when she was close to him. She grabbed his wrist. It felt like she was feeling for his pulse. Did he have one? He must, because he could hear her. He was still alive. He was still okay. "I…I think he already is," she said, and she didn't really sound all that sad to say it. There was so screaming, so sobbing, no tears being wept. Nothing for him, and he really wanted to cry, wanted to scream, feeling so confused and scared.

_I'm alive,_ Percy wanted to scream. _I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm ALIVE._

"No…no!" Roger yelled, sounding sick. "We have to t-take him to the hospital. If he stopped breathing, they could…they could…we should start resuscitating him!" he placed his hands on Percy's chest and started compressing it. All that did was make Percy feel like he couldn't breathe. "You should be doing this, Pen. You're the healer around here! You could…"

Penelope grabbed Roger's wrist and pushed his hands off Percy's chest. "Stop!"

"What are you doing?" Roger hissed coldly at her. "You're killing him!"

"Just let him go," she said a little sternly. "He's suffering enough as it is."

"No," Roger whimpered. "You can't be serious. This is murder. This is…" he stammered. "He's our friend."

"You're right. It _is_ murder. That's what they'll think of it when we go. They'll think you pushed him on purpose! Do you know how it'll look like? Two muggleborns carrying in a pureblood into a hospital?" Penelope asked hotly, and Percy felt Roger's hand stroking Percy's hair, which was still wet with blood. "They'll have us both in Azkaban. Do you think they'll believe your story? Because I was here, and I don't!" Then after a few seconds, she said. "He was really ill, Roger. It's not really…he's gone. Percy's been gone even before now. Do you even recognise him anymore? Do you? He's like a monster. A ghost. Nobody wants him anymore. We're the only ones that even see him!" Her voice cracked. "Just let him go. It'll be better this way for all of us."

"No," Roger replied weakly. "No…I…" he stammered. "He could get better. You should—you should give him…"

_"Stupefy!"_ Penelope called out. There was a sudden heavy silence in the air.

Percy didn't really remember what happened afterwards because he really did lose consciousness.

When he woke up, he was in a room all by himself. It was dark, and cold. He didn't know which part of the house he was at because it was so dark. There were so many boxes everywhere.

He'd lost time in a way he never had before.

Percy felt so weak he could barely lift his arm just to feel the blood congealed at the side of his head. What day was it? What month? Did he even know before he'd gotten hit? Did it even matter? Percy stared at the void. Was this his punishment for being a horrible son? A terrible brother? An awful friend? A disgruntled lover? A disappointing father?

He was so thirsty and alone. Did Penelope move him here after she'd stupefied Roger? Had they just left him here to die?

He felt like all these walls were closing in. He'd never been so scared more in his life. He just wanted to go. He'd never wanted anything so bad. He'd never wanted to apparate away from the house so much, just to leave and be safe. But where did you go if you didn't feel safe anywhere? If the only place you used to feel safe felt like a prison?

_I could be better now,_ Percy thought to himself. _If they get me out. I'd want to get help. I'd want to be better. I'd…. _

Percy always thought he wanted to die, but faced with the true possibility of death, he realised he didn't really want to die. He just wanted to go home.

He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to feel like someone loved him again. He wanted to feel normal again. He wanted to be able to sleep at night without feeling so alone. He'd be happy if he'd never worked again. If he'd never done anything else again. He'd take back everything he'd ever done if he could just go back home.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he remembered all these wonderful things. He remembered how it felt like to have his own birthday cake for the first time. It was a banoffee flavoured one with dried old bananas because their usual ones weren't for sale today. He was so happy...well, up until he blew out the candles. The twins, at just four years old, made it so that it exploded when you did that! He could still remember how nice it was to realise he existed. That he could have an opinion. He remembered looking down at his soft, short plushy six-year-old thighs and loving how warm they felt like under his skin. He remembered how nice it was to have his mum touch his shoulders in the morning just to make him feel like he was at home. He remembered Bill holding his hand when he went into the water for the first time, or clinging onto Charlie when he tried to use his first broomstick. He still remembered the smell of Charlie's cologne and the smell of Bill's old (and favourite) dragonhide jacket. He remembered the smell of newborn Ginny. He remembered how the sun felt like on his back, when he was out on holiday in Egypt. He remembered smelling the rain after his first date with Penelope in Diagon Alley. He remembered curling up in the fire at Hogwarts at three in the morning, with a blanket on his lap and staying up after his exams just reading before they were meant to board on the Hogwarts Express. He remembered how it feel like to come home after every semester. He remembered how it felt like to be tended to. He remembered how nice some days just were, just walking and breathing and living and being alive. Percy thought of it so much he'd become convinced he'd just dreamed it all up in his mind. That it couldn't be real. How could he have lived such a beautiful, wonderful life and feel so many beautiful things and then stuff it up for a job? How could he have such warmth and love in himself and still be so cold and bitter? Why did he have to leave his home? Why couldn't he have stayed? Especially since his mum had made his favourite pudding that night. Merlin, what Percy wouldn't give just for a little bit of his mum's chocolate orange tart... or her Sunday roast...or her Saturday morning fry-up...

Was this it? Was this how dying felt like? Why was it so long and painful? Percy always thought that dying would feel like a short affair, like it was too quick. Like you were counting the seconds and wishing for them to linger. It was how he'd imagined Fred had died. He probably spent his few seconds wishing that George would be okay.

Percy was spending his hours wallowing in the same self-pity he had for years. Even _dying_ he couldn't do right. _I'm sorry,_ he kept thinking to himself. _I'm so sorry,_ but there was nowhere here to hear his apologies but his pathetic self.

Thinking about George made Percy shudder. What if something had happened to him too? He would be powerless to stop it, just like he was powerless to help Fred, just like he was powerless to help anymore. He couldn't even help himself, not that he'd deserve to. He wanted to so badly but he didn't deserve it.

Maybe this was how he was meant to go. Maybe this was how Merlin wanted him to suffer for what he'd done to his family.

Every second, Percy felt like the boxes around him were multiplying. Every second, he had no air left in the world because all these things that he felt like he needed was taking up his space, his air, his life and now, even his death. They would never find him here. He was hidden behind rows of stacks of things that he would never use. He was sweating and sticky, cold and ill, starving and nauseous, tired and longing, longing, longing. It was warm outside, summer—hot and humid. He could hear the insects and maggots and flobberworms and all the other small things grow and fester underneath him. They were eating his house. They would probably eat him too. And he couldn't even do that right, because it wasn't like there was much of him to feast on anyway. He wouldn't be able to sustain a family of flobberworms for more than a week. As he cried and anguished, he could smell the rot in his home. He could smell and feel the layers of dirt accumulating on his skin. He could taste the sour-sickly taste of the last thing he'd ever drunken. He could taste the staleness of the last thing he could recall eating. He could feel spiders crawl onto his skin in the darkness. He could feel his spine against the floorboards, sharp and bony and it hurt so much. His cheeks were hot and red in the view times he had felt like he could touch it. Was this death? Was this how death was supposed to feel like?

If he turned his head to the right, he could smell the blood that matted his hair. If he turned his head to the left, he could smell how dirty and disgusting he was. If he stared ahead, he could see nothing but an empty void waiting for him, swallowing him._ I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

He'd turned everyone away, and now, he'd give anything to talk to anyone. To see anyone. Did anyone realise what a bloody gift that was? To see people and hear them talking and acknowledging you? Percy hadn't. He could've. He had a massive family. He would give anything to talk to any of them, even if they would just fling parsnips at him and call him a git.

Percy didn't know how long he'd been there for. It couldn't have been long. There was only so long a human body could survive without any food or water. He just remembered that he closed his eyes once and woke up to the feel of something soft and fuzzy against his skin. He could hear its heartbeat, and feel it moving against him. Alive as it cried out, a startled hoot. "Hermes," Percy realised, his throat swollen. He wished he could see him properly. "Hermes?" he tried to reach out for him, but his hands felt so heavy. At the same time, he didn't think he'd ever been so thin in his life. He didn't even know you could be so thin. Percy could feel every bone in his body, from when he breathed in and out.

"Yes," Percy scooped up his owl after he heard another hoot. He brought him close to him, burying him into his skeletal frame. "Hermes," then he realised that maybe this meant that he could be rescued. Was that what it meant? A part of him was sure it meant that, because who died in their own house of dehydration? "Hermes, I…I would like to write something. Can you get me parchment paper and ink? Can... can you get me a wand?" his eyes widened, remembering that he had wands lying about everywhere. He had to be able to find one!

His heart was thudding loudly into his chest. He was convinced that he was going to get out of here. He felt lighter than he had in ages.

Hermes replied with an irritated hoot, and then he disappeared. Percy curled his fingers, wishing that he could ask him to come back because he didn't want to be alone.

What if he died when Hermes was looking for parchment paper? He cried about that because he had become an absolute bloody disaster, crying every day and whining about how he was going to die. He'd become so pathetic and overrun by emotions of being left alone in this disgusting, putrid place. Was that what was happening to him? Was he really left here to _die_ by his own wife? Was this what was happening? Because it didn't feel like it could be possible. People didn't die this way! They just _didn't_... and it would be such a shame. Such a catastrophe. How could he even bear the thought of his death being so _pathetic? _Did he really live a whole life just to die in this stupidly absurd manner? Who died like this after surviving two wizarding wars?

_You're not going to die_, Percy was convinced. _Nobody dies like this. Nobody—_

Interrupting his thoughts were Hermes. He'd returned what felt like only seconds later with a parchment paper, an inkpot, and a wand.

Percy picked up the wand, his heart thudding into his ears. But twelve O.W.L's, top marks in Charms, twenty-two years of practicing magic and creating complex spells to prove the existence of mythical creatures didn't really do much for him. For some reason, he couldn't think of a single spell that would help him. It was laughable really.

_"Lumos,"_ he called out shakily. He could barely even do any movement with his wand.

Light burst from the tip of the wand, illuminating the world. He could see all these dead things around him. There were half-eaten rats at his feet. There was a never-ending wriggling of maggots near the blood-soaked floorboards. He could suddenly feel one in his wound, sucking away at his head. _Get it off me,_ Percy weakly thought. _Get these disgusting things off me._ All this moss and overgrown rot in between the boxes. The smell of decay intensified, and he thought that he might genuinely vomit. _Get it OFF ME!_ Trembling, Percy picked up his quill and the piece of parchment. He felt disgusted, seeing how dirty he was. Even with a pair of old torn robes, his arms were so skeletal he hardly recognised them as body parts anymore. He dropped the quill when Hermes let out a strangled cry when he'd seen him and flew away from him. Percy wiped the tears out of his eyes. He had scared off his owl from how vile he must've looked.

As hard as it was, Percy tried not to think too much of it. He didn't know how long he had left. He had everything he could think of wanting now. He had his wand, his ink pot and enough parchment paper to write one of Snape's essays. Percy swallowed and then started to write, even though he wasn't really sure what he was writing. It didn't help that every sentence he wrote looked disjointed. Every letter he tried to do took more mental focus and energy than trying to get through a Quidditch game without snoring. He had tried to keep it as short as possible, as concise as possible, but it all just looked like a bunch of gibberish to him. He'd had to read it over a few times, just to make sure that his words made any sense. He scraped it and then wrote his address in another piece of parchment paper.

He then turned the blood-stained, dirty piece of parchment and wrote _I'm sorry._

When Hermes came back ages afterwards, he'd practically hit him over the head with a bottle of water that Percy was sure his owl stole from someone else. Percy didn't have any bottles of water in his house. He wasn't allowed on account of him never being able to throw away the empty plastic bottles. Roger and Penelope refused to get him any even though he'd asked. They filled up his own buckets with his tap water and put in a glass in the middle for him to drink. "Oh," Percy felt Hermes peck at his head and pick off the disgusting slimy things. He felt so overwhelmed with emotion that he didn't know what to do. "T-thank you," he sobbed. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but c-can you take…take this to the Burrow?" He trembled as he folded that letter, and then filled out an envelope addressing it to The Burrow as neatly as possible. You wouldn't be able to tell from the envelope that it came from this appalling place. It almost reminded him of his older days.

When Hermes practically tore the letter from him and sped off, Percy felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he could finally breathe. Someone was going to come and find him, and everything was going to be okay.

Percy thought of taking the longest baths possible. He thought of scrubbing his skin up until it was raw and red. He thought of throwing himself in vats of peroxide until all the rot washed away from him. He thought about wrapping himself in blankets that had just come out of Molly's washing machine and burying it in himself, feeling the sunshine coursing on his skin. Percy unscrewed the cap on the water. With his tremor, he'd managed to drink a few sips of water. He managed ten or so mouthfuls, but the taste was extraordinary. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted he'd convinced. Sweet and salty and pure.

But then time passed. And even thinking about feeling safe and loved didn't make him feel any better. Then it got to the point where Percy was finding it hard to imagine anything at all. Even with the light in the room, everything just seemed so dark and bleak.

The feeling of fear started to settle in. What if they hated him so much that nobody was going to come help him? What if they were just going to leave him here?

He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this.

Hermes hooted, talking to him for most of the time but Percy didn't really do much. There was at some point that Hermes started hitting him with his wand just to try to get him to do something. He'd got him more parchment papers, more ink, and even food, but Percy didn't see what the point was. What was the point of staying alive? Who for? His best mate and wife left him for dead. His family had abandoned him. And now, he was hurting the only thing that was caring for him. He was a selfish, horrible prick. And he didn't want to live if nobody even cared if he died all alone in such a horrible way.

What had he done that was so wrong? Not even in his wildest imagination would he have concocted such a putrid way for anyone to die. Not even You-Know-Who himself. This was torture. And why couldn't it just end? Why couldn't he just die?

Percy didn't remember much of what happened after the realisation that nobody was going to come for him. There really wasn't much to say. He knew that he was really going to die alone in a dark room that scared him to death. He couldn't accept that. As hard as he tried to imagine accepting it, he couldn't. How could he accept that? How could anyone accept this? He could remember somewhere along the way Hermes slammed a chocolate bar in his face, but Percy ignored it and just stared at the void. Why should he bother? He knew that Hermes had to be bothering his family twenty-four-seven. If he didn't watch it, he'd become an oven-roasted owl. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Percy grabbed the wand he had with him and used the last bit of energy he had in him for one last spell. "_Nox,"_ Percy whispered before he tossed his wand away. He let himself lie back down into the place of his own making. And then he closed his eyes, waiting for a death that never seemed to come.

Until it finally did.


	17. You Want Me To Do What?

_there is the last chapter. following this is just a short epilogue._

* * *

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Seventeen: You Want Me To Do What?

* * *

"Of course, after my body decomposed, as you're all aware…" Percy gestured towards a shell-shocked, pale George, who was sure that he was going to pass up, throw up or just kneel over and die if Percy continued to talk. He could barely process anything Percy even said anymore. Merlin, would he just stop talking? Could he be any more depressing? George's heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on. Did they seriously just let him die like that? Like he was a literal piece of rubbish? "I tore out all the calendars in my house and well… not to sound mental, but I set them on fire. Well, I didn't exactly see the point of being very time oriented. George, you were already aware of the fact that I am not particularly good at judging time since when you've met me, I hadn't known it had been that long. Eight years that is." He cleared his throat. "I know that it sounds rather cruel and selfish just to surrender to death as I have, but I'm not sure I couldn't have survived in such a state for much longer without any assistance...it has been a rather long time. And I was…I was very tired." He even _sounded_ tired. How could a ghost be tired?

Percy was really looking to comfort them with his story telling! George felt better now about coming together and talking about this… honestly, George couldn't believe Percy just said that he didn't regret giving up his will to live because he couldn't wait eight years for his family to notice that he'd disappeared off the face of the Earth! But that wasn't his fault. Before this happened, George hadn't thought about Percy in years. How was that normal? Not to think at all about someone you called family. If George hadn't bought this house, how long would they go on _not knowing?_ It was sickening to even think about! How could someone he grew up with die like this? Even as Percy was dying, he didn't believe that his death would really be like this! And who would? Percy was right. Who fucking died a cold, miserable death like this? How could they not know? How could they leave him to suffer like this?

Percy flushed. Well, not flushed per say, but he did look less pale and translucent. "Well, that's just about it," he smiled weakly. "That's the whole—oh…one more piece of information." George's eyes widened. Blimey, there was _more?_

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Audrey did… somehow find out about my unfortunate demise a few years after. It was after Penelope had…" his voice trailed off. "She killed herself," there was a crack in Percy's voice. "Well, um…Penny was admitted under Audrey and Greenford's care. Audrey tried to contact me after Penny had died, you know, because of Molly and discovered—well, she discovered that I've passed away as well. I'm not sure what's really gone on but I know Audrey adopted Molly after that. I believe she has another daughter named Lucy, but I'm unsure. I like to think that she does. It would be nice if Molly grew up with a sibling. And well, Audrey still visits me sometimes. Usually in the summer, with flowers for-for the house as I've said. Well, not that she's ever seen me but I'm sure she knows that I'm generally… present?" he smiled again.

Merlin. George found himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Percy then nodded his head energetically. "So yes," he paused awkwardly. "That, in fact, is the whole story…I believe."

Silence encompassed the room. Percy looked uncomfortable, sat there waiting for people to tell him something.

But what did you say to that exactly? George was honestly speechless. _Oh, that was a shame that you died in such a horrible manner, but if you'd just not been a git, then maybe we would've read that owl?_

George hated himself for what he'd done. What they collectively did. It was hard to process even days after. Because if they'd just given him the bloody time of day, he'd still be alive. And if he'd been alive, then maybe Percy really would've gotten better. Maybe he'd be the one that was walking his little girl to muggle school, watching her to science experiments with rubber ducks and airplanes. Maybe he would be here to sign his own bloody books and gloat about being famous. Maybe he'd be a normal person again. Maybe he wouldn't have felt like he'd been rejected by the world ever since he'd been born. Maybe he would've been happy. But they took that possibility away from him. And it was a shame, a real shame that not only he'd passed away, but the way that he did left George wishing that he could take back every decision he'd made in the past ten years. Because George knew Percy was afraid of dying alone. Everyone knew that he was afraid of being alone forever. They used to tell him that he was going to die all by himself just to rile him up. If they'd known how true it would've been, George never would've said it.

It was so bloody hard to know how desperate he was for someone to be there with him. He had nobody there to hold his hand as he'd died. Nobody to tell him that it was going to be fine. Nobody to bury him. He had to watch his own self rot in his house. How could he regret giving up when everyone else had given up on him? George bit down his lower lip, his vision blurring with tears. What was the point of crying anyway? Even if Percy hadn't given up, he would've still died. Even if he drank his weight in water and ate as much as Hermes could get him, George doubted he could've lived all by himself in a cramped, decaying vacuum for eight years just waiting for people to spare him a thought? To wonder if maybe he was still alive?

George glanced across the room and met Fred's eyes. Fred looked more corpse-like than ever.

_Do you know what to do?_ George mouthed to him, but Fred looked at George like he was either joking or mental.

He didn't want to, but he found his eyes drifting towards everyone else in the room. Molly's face was tear-stained, but she'd already cried, broke down and sobbed her way through the story. Now, she was just quiet and disheartened as she stared at Percy. Beside her, Arthur was still whimpering and rubbing away his tears. Next to him, Ron's shoulders shook and he refused to meet eyes with anyone in the room. A solemn Hermione had her hand on his knee and was whispering sweet things into his ear. Besides Hermione, Ginny's hair was a colossal mess, and her nose was red and stuffy. Harry was rubbing her back, but even he looked disturbed. In the corner all by himself, Bill looked like he wanted to tear out his hair as he grumbled to himself, rocking back and forth. Sat beside him was Charlie, who looked furious with himself. He'd bit down his lip hard enough to bleed and was scratching his wrist rather aggressively. George felt furious too, but he was also really tired. Beside him, he looked down and noticed Angelina had been holding his hand. How long had she been holding his hand for?

"Thank you," he whispered to her, and she just leaned to kiss his cheek. He shuddered under her touch.

George couldn't take it anymore. This was the saddest sight he'd ever seen, and George could do fuck all to help anyone of them. What were they going to do now?

Fred locked eyes with Percy, and they stared at each other for some time. Percy looked so sad.

"Isn't…anyone going to say anything?" Percy asked, his hands shaking. Merlin, as if it weren't bad enough that Percy had to retell how he'd died in such a horrible manner, but they couldn't even comfort him now!

George opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat. He was ashamed of himself. Percy turned to the rest of his family. Everyone stayed quiet. George was trying to scramble through his mind for something to tell him but couldn't think of a single thing to say. He watched Percy's face change: from disbelief to fury to confusion to pain. Each emotion made George's heart beat ten times faster. And Percy looked like he wanted to lash out but was holding himself. Why was he holding himself? George couldn't help but wonder. They deserved to hear every horrible thought Percy had ever had about them, over and over again until they realised that for war heroes, they'd really wronged him. They hurt him. They _killed_ him.

"Percy, come here," Arthur gestured towards the spot next to him.

Percy floated to Arthur. He sat down but was still hovering a few inches off the ground. George smiled over at him from afar, his heart thudding quicker by the second. Arthur snaked a hand around Percy and pulled him into his chest. "Listen to me," Arthur's voice was so warm and firm that it even calmed George down. "You know that we care about what happened to you, don't you? You know that we love you? That you're still part of this family despite anything that had ever happened? You do know that, don't you?" when Percy had no answer, Arthur just rubbed his shoulder. "I don't think there's anyone here that would say that they wouldn't spend the rest of their lives wishing that things had gone differently. Already I wish I could take back what I said...what I did to you." George stared at Percy. He had to know that, but he acted like he didn't believe that. "You do know that, don't you...? Don't you?"

"Well, I…" Percy stammered. He just stared at George in disbelief. Merlin! He didn't know. George didn't even think about telling him that because he was so sure that Percy had to know that they all hated themselves for that.

"Come on, Perce," George felt so broken. "You have to know that we would've come if we knew."

Percy's eyes were watery. "Really?" he sounded like a first year being told that the stairs at Hogwarts were dangerous.

Bill looked shattered. George doubted there was anyone in the room that believed that Percy thought so lowly of himself. "You have to know that, Perce. Deep down, you have to know that we would've come if we'd bothered to read that letter. Dad is right, we'll bloody hate ourselves for the rest of our lives for not reading the stupid bloody letter…but if we had read it, we would've helped you." He saw Percy shake his head. George was stunned. He really didn't believe anyone would've come for him. He really believed that they would've let him die like that even if they'd read it. "Perce, you were sick for years. But you didn't tell us."

Percy cleared his throat. "No," he replied brokenly.

"You didn't think we would've helped you, did you? You think that we would've _laughed_ at you." Even as Bill said it, he sounded a little disturbed. Merlin, there was nothing funny about him disintegrating just thinking about opening the blinds. "That's what happened, didn't it? And now, you're dead because you wouldn't tell us until…" he stammered.

Percy refused to look at Bill. "Yes, I did," his voice was barely audible. "I thought that…I thought…" he trailed off.

"Thought what?" Charlie joined in on the conversation. "Perce, you're our brother. How could you think like this?"

He looked ashamed, then he just balled his hands into fists. "You've laughed and challenged everything else I've ever done! Why would I believe that you wouldn't mock me for this too?" he replied back coldly, and George would admit that they deserved that. And this conversation was going so well before that. "And isn't it you that had written me off for the past ten years? Why do you find it surprising that I don't know how you feel about me? How dare you claim to even like me! Do you know how long I hoped someone would come and help me? Do you know how long I've waited for you to _bury my body?"_ his voice cracked at the end, and George shuddered. "I just…I…" he stammered, his eyes puffy and red.

"I'm sorry," hearing Percy apologise was even worse than hearing him snap at them for leaving him alone.

"Look, Perce, I—" Bill was cut off by a furious George. How dare he get Percy to apologise to him? Arsehole!

"Just leave him alone," George found himself saying. "Stop interrogating him!"

Bill flushed deeply. "He needs to know that—"

"That _what?_ You would've helped heal him, no question asked?" George asked him hotly. "Because you've welcomed him with open bloody arms when the fight happened? Do you honestly believe that? Because Percy doesn't. And I don't," his lip was shaking. "Perce, look, maybe we never got along, and we've mucked up things so much between us, but…but we didn't want you to die, okay?" He seemed to accept this a little more. "We love you."

"Love me?" Percy echoed incredulously. He might as well have scoffed. He didn't believe that either.

"Yes, we do," Arthur sounded like he was on the verge of tears. George couldn't fathom how it must feel like having to tell your own child that you loved them and them genuinely not believing it. It was even worse remembering that Percy had died feeling that nobody in the world cared for him. "You're my son. You have to know."

Percy smiled weakly at his father, but he had no light in his eyes. He looked so hopeless.

Everything felt so tense and George could barely breathe. He wanted to know what would make them move forward from this. It felt like they were at an impasse. Percy floated in his house, a ghost that had lived alone for the last eight years, and here they were, telling him that he didn't die for nothing and it all just felt so worthless. No matter what they said, it didn't just magically correct the last few years that he'd spent in this house all alone.

"Do you even like being here?" George asked, snapping Percy out of his thoughts. "Do you _want_ to stay here?"

Percy didn't say anything for the first few minutes, then he shook his head. _This house terrifies me. The way I died scared me_, he admitted. _Seeing how I looked like after I died, George... it disgusted me._ _I looked like a monster_.

George shuddered as he imagined Percy having to come face to face with his own skeleton. His corpse had literally decomposed in this house and they had the gall to tell him that they loved him, and expect him to accept it? It wasn't fair.

George then cleared his throat. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asked slowly.

Percy didn't meet George's face. _And where, exactly, do you propose to take me?_ He doubted Percy was jumping for joy at the thought of returning back to the Burrow or his old flat. He doubted that he wanted to leave the house and see a world that had moved on without him. He doubted he wanted to go to Hogwarts again, where he'd worked himself to the bone to end up dying alone in his house. In fact, George couldn't think of a single place Percy might actually want to go to.

_Maybe you can replace Binns in Hogwarts_, George thought. Percy smiled a little.

"Where… where do you want to go?" George asked softly.

Percy looked a little overwhelmed at the question.

"Percy?" George's voice was even softer now. "You don't have to…you…um—"

_I want to go away,_ Percy's response made George shudder. _I don't want to exist at all anymore. _He paused and looked at George seriously, his eyes hardened. _What's there for someone like me, George? Everything is gone. Everything._ He supposed he didn't really know what ghosts did, they were just around. Fred would probably be causing so much mischief at Hogwarts. He couldn't imagine Percy doing much else rather than tell students that they shouldn't be out past curfew. But Percy looked weary and tired.

"You can't mean that," George said aloud, not caring at all that it was rude to have this obvious one-sided conversation with Percy that nobody else could hear. Fred was even giving him a look. "Percy."

_If I asked you to, would you… _Percy looked at him, pleadingly. _Would you burn this house down? For me? So I can finally just...just go? _

George's heart was hammering in his chest. He didn't know where Percy would go without this house. He was afraid of sunlight for Merlin's sake. He hadn't seen it in a decade. He didn't have a coffin. He didn't have anything. "Percy, I…" he felt so overwhelmed. Percy was staring at him with those gigantic eyes, practically begging. "Please don't ask me that."

_But this is what I want! I don't want this! Don't you understand?_ Percy replied. He looked angry. But with that anger was this absolute, unadulterated terror that made George feel so weak. _I won't…I'm not just here just to make you lessen YOUR guilt._ It was a harsh thing to say, but George knew there was a ring of truth to it._ I…I__ shouldn't be here at all, George. I died eight years ago. I have no purpose in this world__. _

Why was he here? George wanted to ask but he didn't know if Percy knew the answer to that. Not that George really cared anyway. He didn't want to know anything anymore.

"I...I can't, Perce," George confessed, strands of dull red hair falling in front of his sincere chocolate-brown eyes. "I'm sorry."

_You're sorry? You're SORRY? _Percy shook his head in disbelief. _This was a mistake_; Percy's hands shook. _There was no point in this. No point at all! What did you think was going to happen at the end of this? Did you think that we would all link hands and find eternal peace?_ Tears streamed down his face. It always surprised him to see him crying. Percy was a ghost. He didn't feel like it was natural for ghosts to cry. As he watched him shake and tremble in pain, George didn't know what to say that would convince him that things were going to be okay, because George wasn't sure if they were going to be. _This isn't fair, George. I don't deserve to feel so miserable forever just because you don't want to see me go._

"Are you crying?" Fred looked a little surprised too. He obviously didn't know ghosts could cry either. "You can cry? _We_ can cry?"

"Oh, Percy, love," Molly sounded heartbroken. "Please…please don't." She looked overwhelmed. "Tell me…tell me what we can do. What we can do for you, just…"

_You can leave me alone. _Percy thought. _Forever. It's not like it matters anyway._ He got up to his feet, clenched his hand into fists and then phased through the ceiling, disappearing out of sight in seconds.

George didn't know what to say. It felt like just a few days ago, he'd seen Percy floating in front of him for the first time. Now, he was asking him to burn this house down for him? George felt more lightheaded than the day where he'd fainted. He was so conflicted he couldn't really think straight. But a part of him already knew that he should do whatever Percy said. Whatever he wanted. He seemed so desperate, so sad… it was really the least that they could do for him.

But why did it have to be that? Why couldn't it have been something easier?

"What did you do?" Ron broke the silence, staring at him angrily.

"Nothing," George honestly replied, shaking his head. "I just…I don't think he wanted Bill to tell him off for not involving us when he started to get ill," he shot Bill a look.

"I wasn't…" Bill looked horrified. "He thought I was _telling him off?"_

"What did you call that then? You were practically blaming him for letting himself be so bloody alone," George replied lowly. "Merlin, do you understand how hard this is for him? He lived _alone_ in this house for a decade. He died _alone_ in this really horrible way that I wouldn't wish on the Death Eater that killed Fred. Of course, he doesn't believe that anyone loves him! Of course, he thinks that you're outright lying to him. How could he believe it when we just left him here to rot for years? Before I told him, he hadn't known that we'd torn his hand out of the Weasley family clock or that we threw his letter into the fire! He lived for years thinking we knew and didn't bother coming. He didn't have anyone to tell him otherwise. What was he supposed to think? And…he really tried. He tried to think the best of us for years but…Merlin, it's been eight years! How long was he supposed to go on, telling himself that it was all a mistake?" George's voice cracked.

Bill winced. "Oh," he sounded dejected. "I didn't think…" he shook his head. "Merlin. That must've been hell."

"So, that's what you are now," Fred said from across the room. "The Git Whisperer."

"Don't call him that," George said a little stiffly. "Well…I am. I can hear what he thinks…if he wants me to. I think."

"Yeah, Freddie, looks like you've been replaced," Ron snorted. Fred shot him a glare, but the humour melted off Ron's face in seconds. He looked a little uncomfortable. "What…what were you two even talking about? He looked really upset."

George didn't meet Ron's eyes. "He doesn't like being here," he whispered. "The way he talked about this house, just before he'd died…it sounded like he really wanted to get away from here." He bit down his lower lip. "I don't really think he wants to be anywhere. I think he wants to…disappear. For good," that was a hard thing to say but Percy did sleep a lot for someone who was already dead. For someone who didn't need sleep. He lived the same day in and out for the past eight years. And the first time that he'd seen his family after his death didn't particularly go so well. George knew that he was a little too cold on him, especially at the start. He wished that he could take it all back. He wished that he knew what to say to make him feel like it wasn't all so bloody pointless.

Arthur looked completely downtrodden. "Can he?" he asked softly. "Can he…can he just…"

"I think so," George nodded his head. "He...he wants me to set his house _on fire_."

Charlie paled. "What would happen to him?" George just shrugged. "You're not going to do it, are you?"

"I don't know. I think I might," George confessed. Molly whimpered, and George found himself biting down his lower lip. "It's what he wants. It's the only thing we could do for him. He can't really do much, mum. He's just suffering living in the place that he was scared of dying in. It-it…" he stammered. "It's the only thing he's ever asked me to do." George didn't even know that he was thinking about doing it until he'd said it. But now that he did, his heart was pounding in his ears.

Was he really thinking of doing this? Was he really going to burn down Percy's rotting, moldy house?

"I…I know," Molly replied, which surprised him. George was surprised at how blasé she was being. "But not like this," she said firmly. "Not with him feeling so unhappy and spiteful. There's no way he can really rest if he…if he thinks that we…"

"I know, mum," George nodded his head, smiling weakly at her. "I won't let him think like that. I promise. He's going to know before he's really gone…he's going to know that we love him. I promise." Arthur looked stunned. He didn't look convinced. Nobody really looked convinced with what Percy wanted, but how dare they deny him this? George just wished it weren't something so hard for him to do. "This is what he wanted, dad. I…I don't know what to do. This is the only thing he asked me to d-do," he sobbed recklessly, his chest aching as he trembled.

"Hey, hey…" Arthur moved close to him and had his arms wrapped around him. "It's alright. It's alright," he tried to tell him. "We understand." It didn't sound like he really did. "You're right," he said. "He's going to know that we love him. We're going to make sure that he knows." George nodded his head, but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to show Percy how much they felt for him.

As George took a deep breath, he realised that he always knew deep down that they couldn't just stay visiting Percy in his rubbish bin house forever. There had to be something else. George always hoped deep down that the solution would be something different.

"Did you hear that, Perce?" George sounded out. "We're going to do it." He paused, waiting for Percy to appear. Was he going to come back? Or did he go a step too far? "We're going to burn your bloody house just like…" he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Just like you want." Every word he said hurt so much. "I promise."

Percy suddenly appeared from behind him, nearly making him wet himself. "Really?" he sounded shocked.

George nodded his head. "R… really," he stammered unhappily, but seeing the light in Percy's face made the pain in his chest go away.

Before George could process what was happening, Percy wrapped his arms around him and hugged him so tightly that George was finding it hard to breathe. George hugged him back, rubbing his cold back. He clung a little tighter and before George knew it, Percy was sobbing. The sound of Percy's sobs so close to him made George cling on even tighter. He could hear his heart racing in his chest. He couldn't believe that Percy was hugging him. Percy, who hated any sort of physical condition whatsoever, was clinging onto him like he was a lifeline (ha!).

"Perce," George thought that maybe this was his chance. "You… you k-know we love you, yes? We really love you?"

Percy's sobs got louder. "Yes," he said a little quietly, as if he didn't want to hear it himself. As if he was too scared to admit it to himself.

George just shook his head, "No, Percy," he was sure his heart was about to burst out of his chest. "We love you."

"I know," Percy's voice was louder. "I know." George felt a little more relaxed now. He was shuddering from how cold he felt, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything at all. "I promise."


	18. Epilogue

**Dead to Me**

Chapter Eighteen: Epilogue

* * *

It was Fred's first birthday. They were passing around carrot cakes in the shop, which just prompted a slew of terrible ginger jokes. As George slowly ate icing off the cake, he stared outside to take it all in.

Merlin, why was it so hot?

Honestly, it was so humid outside that George had to sleep with an oxygen monitor just to make sure he didn't die in his sleep! Not that death was funny, you know. It was a very serious topic indeed. His twin and brother died; you know.

On the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop window, George had pasting the following: a bogus ad for a dating line that redirected them to Lee Jordan's wireless, one of his very own limited-edition chocolate frog cards, and a well-kept two-year-old clipping from The Daily Prophet. It, very proudly, read: _ROGER DAVIES CONFESSES TO PART PLAYED IN MURDER OF PERCIVAL IGNATIUS WEASLEY, TRUE AUTHOR OF EVEN MORE FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM_. Last year on Percy's birthday, George visited Audrey Claire Brown for the first time. It was so strange meeting someone that he knew purely from a story. She was beautiful and smart, and maybe in another time, she and Percy could've been something special together. It was a real shame. She sounded like she still thought about him a lot. George could understand because he thought about him a lot too. At his second visit with her, George gave her the original copies of the books. You know, after all five books had become so famous that Molly could probably buy the Malfoy's out of their manor if she chose to (_when she becomes of age_, George's inner Percy reminded him). Percy would be shocked to see how important he was now. And George wouldn't stop smiling for days when they became required reading for _Care of Magical Creatures_.

He wished he could've met the side of Percy that dreamed of small, beautiful things glowing in the dark.

Last time George visited; Audrey told him that Molly had read them so much that the pages were falling off. George laughed up until he cried. He cried because he hadn't heard anything from Percy since he'd disappeared after the house fire. He cried because he wished that things had gone differently. He cried because there was nothing else that could fill this hole in his chest after all that he'd lost. With Fred. With Percy. The last thing that Fred had told him before he'd left was that he was going to be okay. The last thing that Percy had told him when he'd disappeared was _thank you_. Whenever George felt horribly about himself, he remembered that and his chest was filled with the warmth that reminded him a lot of the glowing, unforgiving sun.

As George turned around to see one-year-old Fred walking towards the WonderWitch section, he smiled. Things could be worse, he supposed. He could lose another ear. He could choke on a carrot cake and never hear the end of it from their mum. Angelina could be pregnant again… yes, George decided. Things could be a lot worse. As he turned to cut himself another slice, a cold breeze made him shudder. He turned around to see, there taped on his shop window, was a copy of _Challenges in Charming_. A boring old disgusting journal that George would never buy on his own accord.

Fervently, George tore the issue off the window and started flipping through it with haste. His heart stopped when he noticed one lone article, circled in old black ink.

_Anonymous Ministry owl bears new spell that may be the cure obsessive-compulsive disorder, hoarding, agoraphobia and all other obsessive related conditions… _


End file.
